


Hollow Things

by pressedinthepages



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Eventual Smut, Explicit Language, F/M, Fever Dreams, Fluff, Frottage, Illnesses, Love Confessions, Not Canon Compliant, Oral Sex, Pining, Sensory Overload, Shame, Slow Burn, Smut, Somnophilia, Sparring, Swearing, Vaginal Sex, Whump, Young Love, description of blood and injury, eskel is a pussy eating god and you cant change my mind, i make my own rules, i'll add more as they come up, past pining, whoops i forgot we're not actually dating
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-26
Updated: 2020-11-17
Packaged: 2021-03-02 19:28:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 22
Words: 43,991
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24382063
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pressedinthepages/pseuds/pressedinthepages
Summary: Eskel x fem!reader AU. You are the only woman to have ever survived the Trials and live as a Witcher. You have been traveling alone for 30 years until you stumble across another Witcher, and he requests your help on a contract. The journey starts from there as they discover hidden pasts, dark secrets, long-repressed feelings, and just how human you both truly are.
Relationships: Eskel (The Witcher)/Reader
Comments: 154
Kudos: 138





	1. The Trials (Prologue)

**Author's Note:**

> Alright y'all, here we go! No one asked for this, but it's been stuck in my head for like a month and now it's finally out! The story doesn't really follow canon, but I tried to make scenes as in-character and realistic to canon as possible.

The heat poured off your skin in waves, yet you felt frigid under your skin. You lay on the floor, soaked in your own sweat and shit and piss and vomit and any other various bodily fluids that you couldn’t be bothered with. During the few hours of consciousness you’ve been able to hold onto, you’ve seen glorious men dancing throughout a giant banquet hall, women with jewels for eyes and giant, feathered wings on their backs, carrying you through a field of flowers bigger than evergreens, and even dark, murky water surrounding you as you’re pulled under by something that looks like a human but with far too many scales and gills. Years ago, after the Choice, you realized that the Gods weren’t listening to you, or, if they were, they were some shitty gods to believe in. What sort of Godly being allows this torture of helpless children? 

But in this moment, after countless days of unrelenting fever and sickness, you found yourself praying. Praying for anything, any sympathy or end to this madness surrounding you. Your sobs, your screams, your prayers echoed in the tiny room, reassuring you that,  _ no, no one is listening.  _ But finally, with one final puff of breath, your eyes fell closed and your body grew still.

…

You wondered if you had finally died. You were standing on a mountain path, rocky and uneven under your feet. It was dusk, the reds and oranges on the sky signaling a storm in the night. The songs of the birds in the trees brought you comfort, their lilting chirps carried on the wind that flowed through your hair. You suddenly sensed a presence behind you, and as you turned, you flung yourself from the trail as a horse barrelled past you, its rider clutching something heavy with blankets to their chest. You felt pulled in their direction, and your feet began following them without thought. You ran for miles, days, weeks, you weren’t sure. But when the rider finally slowed the horse to stop, you found yourself on a familiar stretch of land. You could see the peaks of Kaer Morhen over the crest of mountain, and you heard another set of hoofbeats approach from that direction. The rider dismounts, drawing one of the two swords from his back. You recognize him as Sorel, the asswipe in charge of training new witchers. But you see that his manner is deadly threatening, so you quickly raise your hands in surrender and slowly walk towards him. He doesn’t seem to see you though, staring only at the mysterious rider and their package. 

“Sorel, I swear, I have no idea who this is...” Your voice trails off as Sorel steps forward, golden eyes never leaving his target.

“I take it you’ve decided to accept my offer,” Sorel states, arrogance dripping from his voice like venom. 

The rider nods, pushing the hood of their cloak back from their face. It is a man, plain and unremarkable. You don’t recognize him, but Sorel does.

“Give it here,” he commands, his hand gripping the swords at his hide tighter. 

The man clutches the bundle against his chest, burying his nose into the blanket and letting out a small sob. Sorel grunts impatiently and begins stalking towards the man. You can only watch as he steps  _ through you  _ as if you were air, and you are now fully sure that you’ve died. Your feet feel like they’re nailed to the ground as the rider finally drops from his horse, shifting the blankets in his arms to cradle them. You then see a small arm drop from the side, limp. You gasp, rushing forward to save this child, to stop Sorel, to  _ do something,  _ but you only glide through the men, their words falling unheard to your ears. 

Sorel looks into the bundle, wrinkling his nose. His bright eyes shoot back to the man, instantly threatening him without uttering a single word. The man withers under his gaze, stuttering and babbling nonsensical syllables. 

“We discussed this. We do not take girls here.” Sorel’s voice turning cold as you see him start to raise his sword. 

“But she is not just any girl, please, we fear that if she is not changed, she will be all of our downfall!” The man cried, placing the bundle on the ground. Like this, you could see a young girl, maybe four summers old, dressed in rags and filthy beyond belief. “She entered this world on the day of the Black Sun.”

Sorel stilled, his catlike gaze scrutinizing the man before him. You’d not heard of this, but again, it seemed that Sorel knew exactly what the man was saying. He sheathed his sword in a well-practiced motion and knelt to the ground. You saw him press his fingers to the girl’s neck, and knew he was seeing if she was alive. You’d seen him and the other instructors do this numerous times to the different recruits, leaving them on the ground to gather a shovel more often than not. However, Sorel slipped his hands under the blankets, standing with the girl in his arms and leveling his eyes back to the man. 

“I gave her poppy milk with her last meal, she should be asleep until morning,” the rider whispered, shame leaking almost visibly from his pores. His shoulders were slumped, and his hands fidgeted at his sides, not knowing what to do. 

“You may go,” Sorel said, “and do not return. Once we take in a wolf, it does not leave the pack.”

Sorel watched the man clamber back onto his horse and open his mouth as if to say something else. The Witcher lifted an eyebrow, annoyed, and the mysterious rider closed his mouth and turned his horse back down the path, not once looking back. Once he was out of sight, Sorel called his own horse over, settling himself and the young girl astride it. 

“Sorry man didn’t even give me your name.” He shook his head. Your eyes widened and you took a sharp intake of breath as you heard him whisper a soft sound, pressing his hand to the girl’s forehead. Everything clicked in that moment, and you ran, ran down the path following the other rider, screaming and pleading for him to  _ come back, don’t leave her here, bring her home!  _

You rounded a bend, seeing nothing but grey stone and even greyer clouds in the sky, the rider nowhere to be found. You collapsed on the trail, the little bits of gravel ripping through your trousers and digging into your shins, sobbing and crying and cursing, replaying what you just witnessed over and over in your head until your senses went black. Sorel, the bastard, had given you your name. 

…

When you next opened your eyes, you found yourself inside the walls of Kaer Morhen. You were sitting along the small stone wall around the training area, and there were two children fighting each other with wooden swords. They looked to be around the age of ten, the girl just a little shorter than the boy. He had unruly brown hair that kept getting in his eyes, making him huff his breath to get it out of the way. His eyes were a dark green, it reminded you of the tops of the trees in the summer. The girl had longer hair, falling just past her shoulders. It was pulled off of her face, tied and braided at the back of her head. This time, you recognized them both. You were watching yourself spar with your best friend, almost five years ago. You felt yourself melt into her, seeing what she saw and thinking what she thought.

You were circling each other, watching, waiting, when suddenly the boy lunged forward, swinging his sword in a long arc towards you. You swiftly rolled to the right, finding your footing and blocking his next attack in front of your face. Your swords were locked, your face straining with the effort of pushing his weight back. Suddenly, the boy gave a strong push, knocking you off your feet and onto your bottom, your sword clambering far from your reach. 

“You’re getting better,” the boy smiled, holding out a hand to help you to your feet. You groaned as you stood, rubbing your bottom ruefully.

“Yeah, and so are you,” you complained, “it’ll never be an even fight.”

“Who cares? We’re just practicing.”

“I care! I’m outweighed by all of the boys here, and I don’t know how to win against you! All you do is beat me, throw me onto the ground and claim victory, and I’m not learning how to beat you!” You threw your hands in the air, turning to retrieve the fallen sword. 

When you turned back around, you saw the young boy watching you, his hands on his hips and a smirk pulling at his lips. He always seemed older than he actually was, his mannerisms and personality aging him ahead of his body. 

“What?” You snapped, stalking back towards him.

“You know what Vesemir always says…” he said, and you groaned, your eyes falling to your boots. 

“To reject practice is the path of fools,” you both say in unison. The young boy sighs, placing his hand on your shoulder. You bring your gaze back to him, and he offers a small smile. 

“I know you can do this, even if you’re a little smaller than everyone else,” he says quietly, but so confidently that you start to believe him. But he can sense this, and his smile turns mischievous. “And I’ll always help you practice, I’ll never turn down a chance to beat you!” He quips, and you give him a shove, forcing him backwards. 

“You’ll regret saying that, Eskel!” You shout, and he breaks into a run, shouting back over his shoulder “No way in hell!”

You give chase, whooping and hollering across the courtyard, running in so many circles back and forth that you’re not sure who’s chasing who anymore. The bell in one of the lower towers rings, calling everyone to dinner. You stop, Eskel just behind you. He brushes around you before turning and pulling you into a hug, and  _ gods he gives the best hugs _ . 

“Thank you Eskel,” you whisper into his shoulder, pulling back and giving him a bright smile. He always knew just how to cheer you up, and you always tried your best to do that in return. But boys were difficult, and gross.

“Don’t mention it, I promise, you’ll get the hang of this,” he says, letting you go and turning back to the sprawling castle. “Now c’mon, we gotta get to the dining hall before Geralt takes all the bread!” and you feel the darkness spreading through you once more.

…

When you next awake, you are in the common area of Kaer Morhen. The stone is cold under your feet, and you are standing against the wall at the back of the sprawling room. You recognize yourself in the room instantly, sitting silently, cross-legged on the floor in-between Eskel and Geralt. There are a couple of other young boys on the floor as well, and you are all looking up at the four adults in the room. It seemed that everyone had tried to look as tidy as possible, even Geralt having gone so far as to pull his long, dark hair off of his face and tying it behind his head, allowing his deep brown eyes to scan the candlelit room. The version of you on the floor chances a look around the room, finding the eyes of a red-haired boy. He gives you a wink, and you grimace, rolling your eyes and looking away. He huffs angrily, and you remember thinking that Clovis needed to learn to control his temper better. You remember this moment as if it were only yesterday, because it was.

Sorel steps forward, his golden eyes flicking across the children. You bristle at the sight of him, the revelation of how you came to be at Kaer Morhen and the role he played in it still tender in your mind. He stands confidently, legs shoulder-width apart and hands clasped behind his back. He looks almost identical to the Sorel of twelve years ago, albeit with a new scar at his hairline and the lines forming his ever-present frown are a bit more pronounced. 

“You have survived your training up until this point. However, tomorrow begins your next steps,” Sorel states, his voice settling condescendingly over the others in the room. “At first light, you will all be administered the Trial of the Grasses.”

At this, all of the children blanch, shifting and glancing between themselves uncomfortably. 

“Settle, pups,” Sorel sighs, “our experiments this year focus only on a simple matter of quantity. As there are six of you, we will administer the usual dose to all of you, and half of you will receive an additional dose after the sun has set. Those three will be chosen randomly, so I suppose you could say that we are letting Destiny decide.” Sorel smirked at his final sentiment, and you clenched your fists at your sides, the short nails still digging into your palms. 

“Ah, well, maybe we should just start with the preparations and get this out of the way?” One of the other men steps forward, placing a hand gingerly on Sorel’s shoulder. His hair is long and graying, but his body still shows immense strength and grace. His face does not show any emotion, but you can sense great discomfort behind his eyes, the gold betraying his intent.

“Vesemir, always so impatient to begin the Trials!” Sorel jabs, essentially shutting out the other Witcher. Vesemir nods and resumes his place among the other instructors, one of whom has his arm tightly wrapped in bandages. It is rare to see bandages among the Wolves, but the wound is still fresh. You know this because you witnessed what had happened only a few days prior, but were too far away to do anything. 

The man, Osbert, was another instructor at Kaer Morhen and had been helping the students with their horseback sword work. Geralt sat astride the horse, Osbert seated behind him. You had been waiting your turn, pretending to read about the invention of runes and how they’ve revolutionized the silver swords and _blah blah blah._ Instead, you found yourself fiddling with the hem of your tunic, stealing glances at the boy _no, the young man_ beside you. Eskel was reclined, not even pretending to read that drivel. The wind danced through his hair, blowing the scent of hay to your nose. _Ugh, he’s been back in the stables with the goats again_ you thought to yourself. You had been fond of him for years, but you knew that romance (or any feelings at all) for a Witcher was never a good idea. You were settling back to tug at the threads of the fraying shirt when a high whinny pierced the air. You and all of the other students sprang to your feet, but it was far too late to do anything. You watched the horse rear back wildly, throwing both Osbert and Geralt from its back before bolting in the opposite direction of the castle. Osbert had broken his right arm, and the only wound that Geralt had suffered was one to his pride.

Blinking back to the firelit room, you realize that everyone had left, save for you and Eskel. You were holding him tightly, your face buried into the crook of his neck, your shoulder shaking with silent sobs. Eskel was still taller than you, and he rested his chin atop your head, humming lightly. After what could be moments or hours, you pull back, still holding Eskel’s shoulders softly, your fingers pricking at a pulled thread in the red fabric. His hands stay at your hips, letting you compose your thoughts before speaking. 

“I’m so frightened,” you start, but Eskel cuts you off before you can continue. He’s developed this habit recently, finding himself sticking his foot in his mouth on more than one occasion. However, he clearly hasn’t learned better yet.

“You’ll be fine!” He exclaims, full of false optimism and hope that you don’t believe for a moment. You pass a withering glare, and he relents, his hands tightening ever so slightly on your waist. You really wish that you could enjoy the feeling of his hands right now, but you just can’t bring yourself to that mind-frame. 

“Eskel, it’s not me that I’m worried about. I don’t want to wake up in three days only to find out that this had killed you, and I never got to tell you that I…” your voice trails off, unspoken words and feelings hiding in the silence. 

Eskel blinks, looking down for a moment before you see a shy smile grace his features. He lifts his gaze back to you, bringing a hand to your cheek, and you lean into it with a sigh. He moves forward slowly, resting his forehead on yours. You look into his eyes, falling into the sea of trees and serenity before you both shift, pulled by an invisible force to draw ever closer. Your eyes flutter closed, and you just barely ghost your lips over his. You hear his breath hitch and feel him hesitate for a heartbeat before pulling you back, pressing his lips against yours and bringing his hand back down your hip, trailing along your side tantalizingly slowly. You both cling onto each other, desperately trying to pour everything into this moment, this potential  _ goodbye. _

You feel the darkness closing in once more, and you breathe deeply, smelling smoke and old books and  _ something sharp and unwelcome _ , hoping that this moment will be the last thing you will see before finally meeting Death.

…

The first thing you notice is noise. You can hear voices, some close, some very  _ very  _ far. You can’t understand a single word, but they all sound as though they are screaming in your tight little room. You curl into a ball, pressing your hands to your ears and grimacing, trying and failing to shut out the relentless  _ noise.  _ You can hear the pounding of feet along floors, the rhythmic strikes of wooden swords from the practice yard, even your own heartbeat is echoing in your ears, but it feels  _ far too slow.  _

You feel cold stone beneath you, and it shakes with every movement of something across it. Your loose shirt and light trousers are far too tight, suffocating you with any breath you try to take. You feel every thread, every stitch in the offending articles, every gather and bunch and fold starched into the clothes. Your nails desperately search for a respite from the torture, scratching at the fabric, tearing your skin, and almost effortlessly ripping the clothes from your body, rendering them useless. You almost cry with relief, and you feel the wind through your hair from the tiny window in the corner of the room and the dripping of blood from the wounds on your skin. You can feel the root of every hair on your head, the pressure of your own teeth and tongue against your cheeks, and you open your mouth to take a deep breath.

Instead, you only choke on the persistent taste invading your mouth. It is something bitter and stale, reminiscent of when you wake after a deep slumber, but infinitely stronger. You quickly close your lips, your tongue unconsciously darting out to lick them. You taste salt from sweat and tears, and you can somehow distinguish the two from their tastes. Copper comes next, the sour taste of blood filling your senses. There’s not any in your mouth, but you realize that you’re tasting the blood  _ on the air.  _ You run your tongue along the inside of your mouth, able to feel every notch and ridge along your teeth. You try to focus, grounding yourself with a deep breath in through your nose, since there was  _ no fucking way _ you were ever opening your mouth again if that’s what you’d taste.

However, you were bombarded by the smells of everyone and everything. The first thing you noticed was something sharp and acrid, the same thing that pulled you from your last dream. It was you, you figured, since it smelled of someone in desperate need of a bath. But, as you focus a bit harder, you notice that it is accompanied by several others that are similar, but different at the same time. You try to close in on each one individually, and they comfort you by themselves. One is accompanied by grass and cinnamon, stinging the sensitive nerves of your nose. Another smells of smoke,  _ no, fire, for now, you can tell the difference,  _ and buttercups, and... _ is that onion?  _ Yet another smells of orange and chamomile and hay, and you almost sob with the newfound knowledge. You’d know that smell anywhere, Eskel has always been weak for orange soaps, and he’s  _ actually alive.  _ But he’s in pain, you all are. You linger on his scent a bit longer, allowing yourself the small comfort of his far-away embrace. You come back to yourself, smelling bread baking and sword oil and goats on the air…and underneath it all, the rancid stench of death and decay. You gag, the scent now permeating your skin, every pore seemingly screaming with disgust and nausea. Your stomach heaves, but nothing comes of it, having emptied itself days ago.

You roll onto your front, pulling your arms under you to push yourself to a stand. You want to run, fight, scream at all of the invading sensations. But  _ gods,  _ you’re terrified to open your eyes. You try to move forward, but you stumble on the little grooves in the stone that you hadn’t noticed before. You fumble to try to find something to lean on, encountering the rough wood of your small dresser under your fingers. You run your fingertips along the surface, feeling the grain of the wood and noticing the oddly sweet scent that it gives off. You hadn’t thought that wood would smell sweet, but at this point, you’re not sure what else could possibly surprise you. You steady yourself against the dresser, head reeling with the emotional turmoil of your dreams and the sensory overload of your consciousness. You clench your jaw, bracing yourself for the inevitable. You reach up, finding the edge of the little mirror secured to the wall. You take a deep breath, and blink open your eyes. 

You instantly close them again, finching against the blinding whiteness that you saw. You force yourself to take a breath, for the moment ignoring the horrid taste in your mouth. You open your eyes again, slower this time. You keep them pointed down, and soon enough, the light fades and your eyes adjust to look at the top of the dresser in front of you. You can see all of the individual grains of wood and the tiny specks of dust spattered across the top even though you remember cleaning the morning of the Trial. You look at your hands, back to resting atop the dresser. They are eerily still, covered in days of grime and there’s blood under your fingernails. You slowly bring your gaze down to the rest of your body. You still look pretty much the same, but you can see the frantic scratches on your skin from tearing off your clothes. You remember them bleeding, but they’ve already almost completely healed over. You run a finger over a particularly deep one on your hip, awed when you feel no pain from the pressure. Your hair is hanging in your eyes, and you impatiently push it back, lifting your head and closing your eyes, hesitating before looking at the mirror. 

You meet the eyes of the person there. Her hair is wild, matted in spots from days of neglect. She is flushed and sweating, tracks through the grime on her cheeks marking the paths of shed tears. Her chest is heaving, and you can hear her heart speed up,  _ but it’s still too slow.  _ But none of that is what really catches your attention.

Her eyes...they are a bright, shining gold. You lean closer to the mirror, intent on seeing every detail. Her pupils are tiny, little slits, letting in as little light as possible. From further away, they look as though you melted a golden ring and poured it into her irises. But up close, you can see the little nerves and veins, painting the gold with strokes of something darker and warmer, making it look as though her eyes are made of fire. They burn with their intensity and you stumble back, terrified of the girl in the mirror. Now, you are certain that the Gods, if they even exist, could not care less to listen to you.

You scream.


	2. Expectations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After 30 years of walking the path alone, your heart has hardened over, but it seems there are a couple of cracks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one’s a bit shorter, but I like where it ended so it’ll be a good setup for the next chapter :) enjoy!

The sun is high in the sky, a slight breeze stirring dust from the trail as you walk. You can feel eyes burning holes in the back of your armor as you approach the notice board. You’ve arrived in a sizeable town in Velen, almost as far east as Oxenfurt. The people here, you can tell, are well-fed and prosperous. Being this close to a big city tends to leave people with an extra bit of coin in their pockets, but it also tends to come with bigger problems. Sometimes it’s bigger, meaner contracts, or it’s stingy, uptight employers. Your leather skirt billows around your knees, and you are grateful for the lined trousers you wore underneath as the wind bit your nose. You keep the hood on your cloak up, not yet having a chance to figure out just how welcome you are here. 

_1255_. The year catches your eye from a slip of parchment on the board, glaring at you, taunting you behind a ruse of some poor sap looking for a lost ring. You think back, it’s been about thirty years since you left Kaer Morhen, and you’ve not been able to bring yourself to crawl back up those steps. You’d heard whispers among townsfolk about an attack, just a few years after you left on the Path. You had contemplated returning, feeling a wave of grief come over you as one of the last Wolves on the continent. 

But as you started making the trek towards the mountains, a sense of panic and dread building in your chest. That place had held you down, smothered you, taken everything that you had the potential to be and robbed it of you. It turned you into something not much more than the monsters you are paid to slay and almost killed you in the process. You often found yourself wishing that the damned place had actually finished the job and let you die in the Trials, let you slip from its grasp into the cold, dark earth.

Shaking the daydream away, you peer at the fluttering papers nailed to the board. Most were useless, people looking for misplaced trinkets or threatening their neighbors. However, there was one in the corner that drew your attention, mainly because of the big letters scrawled across the top: WITCHER NEEDED.

You scan the notice quickly, shoving it into your pack before briskly turning and striding towards the edge of town. The contract spoke of a “hoard of flying women, tits sagging in a most horrid manner.” The man who had posted the notice had directed the reader to come to his home, where he would tell them what they needed to know.

As you approach, you see a bearded man with two young children playing as he worked in a small garden. You cross into the yard, the children quieting with your arrival. You clear your throat, the man startling at the noise. He stands and turns to you, taking notice of the two swords on your back and the scar on your brow. 

“I’m here about the contract.” Your voice is even, decades of training and practice behind you to quell any emotion that may be conveyed in your tone. The man’s eyes quickly flick down and back up your body, seemingly confused by your existence. You’re used to it though, everyone is. His eyes settle back on the scar at your brow and it tingles, your hands fighting the urge to scratch at it.

Losing patience, you arch your brow and hold the parchment out to him. He glances down at it and clears his throat. 

“Well, miss, I’m not sure if this is something that you’d really be able to handle…” his voice trailing off as your golden eyes narrowed in disdain. 

“I can assure you,” you sneered, venom dripping from your tongue, “I am plenty capable of taking care of myself. Now, tell me more about what you saw.”

The man at least has the decency to flush, looking askance as he avoided your gaze. His name is Kasper, and as he weaves his story, you know exactly what the contract is asking. There is a dense forest at the base of the mountains where many people go to collect herbs and vegetables. But there is a new nest of “winged things, naked and smelling of rot,” and they attack anyone who ventures to the far edge of the forest. The man says there were about a dozen of them, all of them vicious. They scream and scratch, and they will steal any sort of jewelry or other shiny items with their victim. 

“Seems you’ve been burdened with a harpy nest,” and you can tell that the children are listening intently to every word. “I’d be willing to take care of this for you, but I would like to discuss payment.”

Kasper shifts, scratching the underside of his chin before sighing. “I’ve never seen a Lady Witcher before, but if you feel confident that you can do this…”

“I do, and I am no Lady. I am but a Witcher, one who is here and able to solve your problem.”

You discuss the payment, agreeing on a price that is a few more crowns than the notice had stated, and that you would receive payment upon providing proof of the job being finished. As you turn to leave, one of the children runs to your side. She can’t be more than five summers, and you are briefly reminded of your fever dream full of confusion and betrayal.

“Excuse me, Lady Witcher?” She tugs on the hem of your skirt just above your knee, pulling your attentions back to her. You feel the edge of your mouth turn up slightly, you’ve always been weak at the innocence of children. You stop and kneel, finding yourself at eye level with the little girl. Her younger brother is behind her, clasping onto the leg of his father and bashfully turning his head into it. The girl’s eyes are wide and full of life and joy, and you feel your heart clench for a moment. 

As you peer back at her with your bright eyes that burn with their intensity, you notice that you can’t smell fear. It’s a high, sour smell that permeates the air and follows you almost everywhere you go. But not here, not from this child. She only radiates comfort and trust, and grass. Your nose is especially sensitive to the smell of grass, twitching slightly with the effort to not sneeze onto the girl in front of you. 

“You gotta promise something,” the little girl says, swaying slightly as she speaks, already tired of staying still for too long.

You smile kindly, a movement that you’ve allowed yourself to relearn over the years. There’s not a lot behind it, but it’s better than the empty holes where your feelings used to be. “And what would you have me promise, fauntkin?”

“You gotta promise you’ll be careful, cause if you don’t who’s gonna take care of the scary bird ladies?” she exclaims indignantly. 

You blink in surprise, unsure of how to respond to that. You end up settling on “well, I’ve come back from every hunt I’ve gone on so far, so I have a pretty good feeling about this one.” 

She doesn’t seem convinced, her teeth worrying her lower lip. “And then what? What about when another monster comes here? Will you come back?”

“If you’d like for me to, I will gladly return,” you say, and before you can register what happens she throws her arms around your neck and you stiffen, unused to the blatant display of affection. But as she rests her head on your shoulder, you gently wrap an arm around her waist, returning the gesture as best as you can. Your legs are at an awkward angle and they begin to ache, but you wouldn’t move for all of the coin in the world. It’s been decades since you’ve felt such trust from another person, and you can’t let it go before it’s ready. It’s easy to imagine a life full of love like this, easy and warm.

The girl moves back, her mind wandering to far-off worlds with sunshine and happiness around every corner. You watch her go as you stand, your lungs feeling a bit too tight and your eyes watering just a bit. You turn and head towards the forest, feeling your heart harden back up with every step back into your life.

…

The dwindling light from the sun casts rays through the leaves of the forest. They flash bright reds and yellows, precarious along the branches that dance on the breeze. The bright colors remind you of the approaching frost, and you decide that as soon as you complete this contract, you’ll move further south. The sooner you get there, the better, so that you can hopefully establish a presence in a town that would be willing to house you during the winter. 

  
  


You’re kneeling at a small stream that runs through a clearing in the heart of the forest. You’ve set up a small camp for the evening atop a hill behind you, and you followed the sound of trickling water in the hope that you may get (at least a little) clean. You’ve left your armor with your horse at the camp, leaving you in a light chemise and your trousers, your two swords still strung across your back. You rest your hands in the stream, the cool water cutting through your skin before embracing it, swirling and gliding through your fingers. You take a deep breath in, surrounding yourself with the tranquility of a quiet forest, smelling only the earth and the water and the animals that call this place their home.

The peace did not last long, however, as the wind carried the sound of light, bounding hoofbeats followed closely by heavy, thundering footfalls. You stand, scenting the air as you move. You’re upwind, and all you can gather from what smells you can catch is that they’re alive.  _ No shit,  _ you think to yourself, unsheathing your steel sword and swinging it around your wrist to grip it. The threats are far too close for you to be able to rush back to your camp, so you face the direction they are coming from head-on. You raise your sword across your chest to strike just as the first ‘living thing’ bursts through the thicket into the clearing.

  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also, the term 'fauntkin' is a medieval term of endearment, essentially meaning "young child."  
> Thank you so much for reading :) you can find me on tumblr @thefishmongersdaughterwrites


	3. Reunion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You confront the beast, but end up finding something a bit different than what you were expecting.

The sword is heavy in your hand as you swing high, but you freeze as you look at what had burst into the clearing. You weren’t sure exactly what to expect, but it certainly wasn’t  _ that _ . You scent the air again now that it’s right in front of you, and there’s no denying it; it’s a fucking goat.

She pauses and looks up at you, her eyes blank and oblivious to the potential danger that she has walked into. Instead of fleeing or stomping to fight, the goat just dips her head to the ground and begins munching on some celandine sprouting along the edge of the stream. You lower the sword back to your side as you listen, noticing that the heavy footfalls that had been approaching had disappeared, yet you still feel uneasy. 

You keep your hand on your weapon as you observe the little goat, curious as to what the fuck she was doing in the middle of a forest. Her fur is a dark, rich brown speckled with white spots along her back. She has two tiny horns atop her head, and her eyes are a light brown, striking against the dark of her fur. The goat lifts her head and meets your gaze, and you feel as though she has the ability to know everything, but actually knows nothing at all. You stare at each other for a moment when she suddenly bleats, something sharp and powerful, and you get the sense that she just asked you to ‘fuck off’ in goat.

Your uneasiness grows, certain that there is  _ something  _ nearby, watching you. Your grip tightens on your sword as you slowly start to move in the direction of your camp. As you do, your body is overwhelmed with a strange (but not unpleasant) tingling sensation, your bones feeling like they are vibrating under your skin. Abruptly, the wind shifts and you catch a new scent on the air; something dark and smoky, steel and blood, and... _ oranges? _

__ Before your brain can catch up, you are grabbed and shoved to the ground from behind. Your sword clatters along the stones by the water, and you gasp as the wind is knocked out of you. The buckle at the top of your shoulder clinks and loosens, your silver sword pulled from your back. Your training takes over, elbowing whatever is on top of you in the abdomen. Their hold on you eases just enough for you to roll away, shoving the heel of your palm into the face of your attacker. You feel blood rush under your hand as you retreat, coming to your feet and circling around at the edge of the clearing to face your attacker.

The first thing that you notice is that this is a humanoid creature, presumably a male of the species. As he stands, he holds a hand to his face in an attempt to quash the blood flowing from his nose, the smell of copper wrinkling your nose. He is wearing clothes, plain trousers and a tunic with red and brown stripes. He too is unarmed, and as you glance around the clearing, you notice a second sheath sticking out from under the bush where your attacker must have been hiding. You see the hilt of a sword, and then one of a second sword, and  _ oh shit. _

You look back to the man’s face, allowing your body to relax a touch as he runs a forearm across his lip, wiping away the excess blood. The bleeding has stopped, and you can see the shimmery shield of  _ Quen _ around the man. He is tall and broad, and you can see that his forearms are littered with scars that shine subtly against his tanned skin. Along his face, though, are three long, deep gashes, red and angry and haunted by the pain of the past that bleeds into the present. He has deep chestnut hair that falls into his eyes, and when you catch them, they steal your breath.

His eyes are deep gold, threaded with fire and approaching storms. As you discreetly scent the air once more, the realization floods through you. Those eyes catch the light of the setting sun, glimmering and otherworldly, but all you can see are the color that they used to be; rich green, the color of the tops of the trees in spring. He always did love those orange soaps.

“Eskel?” you breathe, your voice nothing more than a leaf fluttering from a tree. He stiffens, breath catching in his lungs. You can hear his heartbeat speed up, looking into your eyes, searching for the answer to a question he has yet to ask. You visibly relax your posture, turning your palms outward in a show of submission. He still waits, his body coiled to pounce at the first sign of aggression, but something in his eyes shifts as he inhales, and you know that he has finally scented you.

You take a tentative step forward, needing to discreetly close the distance between you before coming to any conclusions about who is in front of you. He  _ smells  _ like Eskel, and he  _ looks  _ like Eskel, albeit a bit weathered and with a bunch more scars than when you last saw him. He looks exhausted, and you can’t help your heart breaking a little. But you know better than to take anything at face value, this could be a doppler, or a djinn, or some other fucking thing that has gotten into your head and is using your past against you. 

The man in front of you mirrors your actions, his posture also relaxing and stepping forward slowly. As you grow closer, only just outside of arm’s reach, the silver medallion on your chest lies still, the heavy charm confirming that this was not some being masquerading as Eskel, but was actually him. He seems to have come to the same conclusion, breathing out your name, so quiet that you wouldn’t have heard him without your heightened hearing.

You both carefully move forward until you are close enough to share a breath, and you are overwhelmed with the scent of him, the sound of his heartbeat, the sight of the man who had been your source of sanity for almost twenty years, and had unknowingly haunted you for the past thirty. 

Before you can register the movements, his arms are around your waist, pulling you to his chest and holding you there. He rests his head on your shoulder as he sinks into you, holding his breath and trembling slightly, only enough for another Witcher to notice. It’s been so long since you had felt any of the numerous sensations darting around you, and instead of confronting them or trying to focus on all of them at once, you just allow yourself to bring your arms around his neck, enfolding him into you. 

You stay like that for a while, neither one of you willing to break the embrace. You can feel his thumb lightly stroking your back, and his stubble scratches along your throat. You thread your fingers through his hair, a dusty, unruly mess that seems to be one of the only things about him that hasn’t really changed. 

“I can’t believe you’re alive,” he whispers into your shoulder, his arms tightening around your waist. Before you can respond, though, you feel a sharp jab in the back of your knees, buckling as Eskel catches your weight. You turn and see the goat behind you, still chewing on greens. You think that you catch a glint of playfulness in her eyes, and that is confirmed soon enough.

Eskel releases his grip on you, stepping around to approach the goat. His mouth is set in a hard line, and his hands rest on his hips as he tilts his head down to look at her. She trots up to him, unafraid, and stands with her two front hooves on the toes of his boots.

As you watch all of this unfold, unsure of whether or not this a bizarre dream, Eskel sighs, the corner of his mouth tilting up the tiniest bit. He bends over and gently shoves the goat away, but she bounces right back around to stand once more on his toes. He does this a couple more times, seemingly lost in his own little world. You can’t help but crack a small smile watching him, waiting for the goat to be finished with her playtime. 

Finally, she firmly plants all four hooves on the ground and bleats, quick and clear, most of the greens falling from her mouth as she does. Eskel reaches out and ruffles the little tuft of fur between her horns before standing again, turning to you with a somewhat sheepish look on his face. 

You feel the corners of your mouth turn up once more before shrugging and turning to gather your swords from where they had fallen. As you rise once more, you see that Eskel has gathered his belongings as well, swords slung across his back, medallion glinting in the fading sun. You nod in the direction of your camp, wordlessly inviting him to join you. Eskel whistles high and loud, and you can hear another set of hooves approaching from the direction that he had come. A large black warhorse plods into the clearing, graceful and poised despite his grand stature. The goat bounces between his feet, bleating and ramming her horns into the horse’s legs. 

Eskel sighs at them before gesturing towards your camp, “After you, Witcher.” 

As you begin to climb the hill, Eskel and his  _ traveling companions (?)  _ at your back, you can’t help the ripple of relief along your mind. You’re not sure why, or how, but even now, thirty years since you’ve last seen him, Eskel  _ still  _ makes you feel human again.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We stan lil' bleater in this house


	4. Fractures

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After being found, questions are asked and painful pasts come to light.

The fire crackles and spits, warming the air around you. The darkness of night is accompanied by a chill in the air, but neither you nor the guest at your camp pays it any mind. Eskel has been quiet as you both ate, wordlessly regarding you over the light of the fire. 

“So…” you say, breaking the silence. You don’t want to start with anything too heavy, so you settle on “what’s the deal with the goat?”

Eskel’s face visibly lightens, his tense expression melting into something much softer, like ice caps melting in the sea. He looks into the shadows at the edge of the camp where the animals are resting. His stallion stands beside your mare, both of them nodding off in the still evening. Eskel’s goat is at the horses’ feet, curled up and tucked in on herself, sound asleep.

“I was passing through a little farming village about a year ago,” Eskel says, his voice carrying low on the breeze. “I didn’t even end up taking a job in that town, but as I was leaving she jumped the fence of her enclosure and ran up to me. She was a tiny little thing, probably the runt in her litter. I tried to just keep walking, but she kept  _ screaming  _ at me.” You smile at the picture, fully able to imagine it based on your experiences with the goat earlier that day. 

“I turned around and walked back to her farm,” he continues, “and I opened the gate to try and get her back in there. She was just a stubborn then as she is now, and she wouldn’t budge. She dug her hooves in and gave me this look, gods she reminded me so much of Lambert,” he laughed. 

You think back to when, about a year before you left Kaer Morhen, Eskel, Geralt, and you had been tasked with teaching Lambert the most efficient method to deal with a water hag. It turned out to be much easier said than done. Lambert had been no more than fourteen at the time, his eyes still hazel in the noon sun. 

...

Lambert was wailing on a dummy by the wall of the courtyard, beating the ever-loving shit out of the damn thing. The three of you were trying to get him to listen to your advice, but it was like speaking to a wall. The little brat had decided that since he had killed one whole drowner he could take on whatever decided to come after him.

“Gods, I don’t know why we even try!” Geralt had exclaimed, finally reaching the end of his already very short patience. He stormed off, silver hair flipping into his eyes as he purposefully stomped up the steps towards the keep. 

Eskel’s patience was wearing thin as well, you had noticed. He was always good at hiding his frustrations, but you had known him long enough to see through his cover. You remember placing a hand on his shoulder and nodding at the stoop surrounding the training area, silently telling him to sit down and let the master work. 

Unfortunately, you still had yet to master  _ Axii,  _ and even if you had, you wouldn’t feel comfortable using it on someone for many years. So, you settled on a much older method, one that transcended time and magic.

“Hey, I bet that you can’t beat me in a sword fight,” you had called, unsheathing the steel sword as you did.

Lambert stopped his incessant swinging and turned, more than a little bit of arrogance shining in his eyes. Even though he was younger and less experienced, he had already been taller and broader than you. He tilted his head and you began circling each other around the courtyard. 

“Hmmm...and what will I get when I win?” he had asked, already holding his sword in a solid guard across his chest. 

“ _ If  _ you win, I’ll do your dish duty for a month,” you replied, and you had known that you had him hooked. Lambert hated dish duty more than almost anything else, grumbling and bitching the whole time. 

“But,” you continued, his eyes narrowing, “if I win, you’ll let me come on the hunt for the hag with you.”

He stopped, his body reeking of sudden confusion. Even Eskel, who had been only halfway paying attention, perked up at your words, neither of them sure of why you wanted  _ that  _ for your prize. Lambert’s body shifted, his sword falling lower to his waist.

You smiled and quickly threw a hand out, casting  _ Aard  _ and sending Lambert flying backward, almost knocking Eskel off of the ledge. You ran forward and lept, sword held high. Lambert had barely had time to roll out of the way, and you spent the next hour chasing him around the courtyard. 

The next day, you had set off on the hunt, happy with the rules you had set for your victorious hunt. You had tied a bit of fabric around Lambert’s mouth and told him that if he took it off, he’d be doing  _ your  _ dish duty for the next  _ year. _ During the long trek to the hag’s lair, you spoke at great length about any and every bit of information you had about water hags, reveling in the chance to get him to listen without pulling your hair out.

…

“I almost even named her Lil’ Lambert, you know.” Eskel’s words bring your attention back to him, and you see the little smirk on his face on catching you daydreaming. “But, I figured Lambert wouldn’t be thrilled with being compared to a goat, so I just call her Lil’ Bleater instead.”

“Because…?” You chuckle, teasing the immense creativity the man in front of you had when naming his goat.

He avoids your gaze, well aware of the hole he has dug himself into. “Because..she...she bleats.”

You snort, and you feel real, true laughter rising from your stomach. It’s been longer than you can remember since you last laughed so  _ easily,  _ but it makes sense, you think, that Eskel would be the one to remind you of just how good it feels.

As the laughter dies down, the silence settles back around you, stifling in its quiet. You’ve always been content in silence, but now, it is as if the air is holding its breath, waiting for you to have the inevitable, painful conversation. 

Eskel clears his throat, also visibly uncomfortable. You can hear his heartbeat underneath the sound of the fire, slow and steady as he breathes. His fingers intertwine with one another, grappling with the thoughts that are loudly spinning around his mind.

“You wander these woods often, or did something specific bring you here?” finally asks, teasing lilting his voice at the edges. You look up at him and smirk before nodding, explaining the harpy contract that you were set to begin hunting in the morning.

“Damn it, I was going after that one too. Different town, sits over the hill…” Eskel’s words drift off, glancing up at you as he debates asking a further question. You’ve always been impatient, so you ask instead.

“Need a hand? We can take care of the nest easily between the two of us, and there should be plenty of harpies for us to each grab a trophy from to use as proof,” you ponder, fiddling with the hem of your tunic at your leg. “Once it’s done, we can go back to the respective towns and both claim the rewards, and then set off on the Path again.”

He exhales sharply through his nose, his jaw set in an unmistakable gesture of conflict. Before you can wonder what may have annoyed him, you hear him mumble from across the fire.

“Yeah, I suppose that would be the best plan.”

Your heart breaks a little, a feeling that you haven’t really known in years. You wish that you could have more time with him, but you know that Witchers aren’t meant to linger together,  _ the Path of the wolf is one trekked alone. _

Eskel runs a hand through his hair, the dark locks fluttering back around his golden eyes as he raises his gaze to you once more. You see the fire behind it, flashing hurt and anger and confusion.

“What the hell happened? Why haven’t you found any of us, or come back?” He exclaims, jumping to his feet and pacing around the fire. You sigh, hugging your arms around your chest. You knew that he’d ask that, but you loathed the idea of going back through all of that pain and fear. 

“Eskel,” you start, lowering your gaze to the fire, it being somehow less intense that looking into his eyes. “It was never about you, or the others. It was me, and my shit, my own inability to control my cowardice.”

Eskel stops, turning to you and staying silent, allowing you the time you need to put together your thoughts before speaking.

“Once we left and got a taste of the world, I realized how much fear had been ingrained in those walls. I was scared to go back there, to have to feel the memory of the Trials and the constant panic of not being perfect.” Your voice breaks a little, but you continue on, now unable to stop the torrent of emotions that had been held back for so long. You suddenly realize that it’s not that you haven’t been feeling for the past thirty years, but that you have just been pushing those feelings down further and further, and the moment Eskel came along he undid the lid and everything came spilling out.

“I just wandered for a few years, and by the time I had kind of made peace with what we went through at Kaer Morhen, I heard about the attack.” You look up at him and he is wearing a grimace, flinching slightly at the memory. “I was so ashamed, _I_ _should’ve been there, I shouldn’t even be alive._

A tear falls down your cheek as you fall silent. You see Eskel’s boots move, coming to rest on the ground beside yours. He sits beside you on the log and wraps his arms around your middle, pulling you to his broad chest. You sink into him, finding comfort in the scent of him and his grip grounding you in the present.

“You have nothing to be ashamed of” he rumbles, his voice low and soothing. “Gods, I have so many mixed feelings about that place. But it’s the only home I’ve known, and I’ve been given the chance to decide whether I want it to be a place of refuge, or one that smothers me.”

You know that he has a point, but you still can’t bring yourself to go back. “There’s something else. I’ve made peace with the past, or at least as much as I can.” You sit up, Eskel’s arms still sitting at your sides. You’re reminded of the night before the Trial, and the kiss that you shared but never actually talked about after. 

“There’s this mage, and he’s been hunting and killing women for years,” you explain, Eskel’s brow furrowing with worry. “Allegedly, all of them were born during an eclipse, causing them to have certain...properties. I’m not sure exactly what, but the Day of the Black Sun is infamous. People are terrified of them, and this mage apparently thinks that these women are set to end the world as we know it.”

“What does all of this have to do with you?” Eskel asks, and you can’t help but fear how he will react when you tell him the truth.

“I...I’m one of them. I was born on that day, I saw it in one of the visions from the Trial,” you whisper, eyes avoiding his once more. “I’ve tried to stay low, stay safe, but...What if I am the end? I’ve already been turned into this...this  _ monster... _ who knows what else I could become?”

Eskel fits a finger below your chin and pulls you back to him, his eyes searching yours as you see the tension in his brow relax.

“You listen closely, please,” he states, his tone serious as he continues. “You are not, and have never been, some monster. I don’t care what anyone has said over the years, I have learned that we  _ alone  _ control what we are. It doesn’t matter what others have done to you or think of you, it only matters what you choose to believe in spite of that.”

You swallow, your emotions slowly closing themselves back into the little box in your head. You don’t really know how to feel, having never really considered Eskel’s line of reasoning. 

“You know, when you didn’t come back to Kaer Morhen that first winter, I worried constantly. In the spring, I convinced Geralt to help me look for you.” You turn back to the fire, once more ashamed of causing him concern. “We looked for the whole year, only taking enough contracts to get by. We’d hear whispers of you every now and then, but you’d be long gone every time. I’d still get Geralt to help when he could after that, but his Path was pulling him in lots of directions. Lambert even helped for a bit when he left the keep, but he got so frustrated with the lack of results that he didn’t last very long.”

“And then, after the attack, all we heard was silence. Everywhere we went, there was never any sign of you.” The tears flow freely down your cheeks,  _ he’d actually looked for you? Tried to find you?  _ “The others mourned you along with the rest, thinking that you had been killed. I figured that they were probably right, but a part of me just  _ knew  _ that you were still alive. I’ve never really stopped looking, and when I saw you in the forest, gods, I thought you were just some hallucination, taunting me with your presence.”

“ _But you were actually there, alive, right in front of me,”_ his voice shakes before he clears his throat. “I can’t let go, not now. I’ll do everything in my power to keep you safe, even if I have to hunt down that mage and end him my own damn self.”

You look back to him and see the promise behind his eyes, and you wonder what your life could have been like if you’d found him sooner. You nod, not trusting yourself to reopen your chest of emotions that has buried itself back into your heart.

“We should rest, we’ll have a long day tomorrow,” you say, your words soft and edged with an empty sadness. Eskel sighs before standing to move away, but your hand catches his and pulls him back down. You can’t say it yet, but you can’t let go now either.

You rest your head on Eskel’s shoulder and feel his arm wrap around your waist, holding you steady. The sounds of the forest and the beat of the strong heart beneath you lull you into deep relaxation, your eyes fluttering shut and your consciousness slipping from your grasp.

  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading :) you can find me on tumblr @thefishmongersdaughterwrites


	5. Hunt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The hunt begins, and an injury brings forth discussions, and an offer is made.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one was a fun one to write, then it got feelings-y, which is still fun, but not the same as writing a badass harpy battle.

You are running, the wind biting your nose as your hair whips across your face. The ground is hard under your feet, your heart pounding against your chest in a rapid tattoo. The trail is steep, causing the muscles in your thighs to ache. You can smell blood on the air and you run faster, the scent growing as you approach the cliff at the end of the trail. You can see the body from here, the hulking figure curled on itself with its back to you. You drop to your knees next to him, rolling him onto his back. 

You hold your breath as you take in the overwhelming amount of blood soaking the red-striped fabric. Eskel isn’t breathing, and you claw at his chest to try and find where the blood is coming from. No matter where you look, you can’t find any wound, and the blood just keeps flowing under your fingertips. His eyes are closed and his skin is deathly pale, and you can’t hold back the sob that flies from your lips. You curl your fingers into his jerkin, the leather stiff under your grip. You pull his head to your chest, cradling him as you cry out into the vast nothingness. The ground shakes beneath you and something calls your name and clench your eyes shut as you brace for the worst…

You open your eyes, Eskel leaning over you with his hands on your shoulders, shaking you awake. His golden gaze is filled with concern, but you feel his grip relax as you blink into consciousness. He lets go and sits back on his heels, letting you sit up and rub the sleep from your eyes. You haven’t had such a vivid nightmare in  _ years,  _ only occasionally being awoken by a vague sense of discomfort. 

You rise to your feet, slightly  _ too  _ awake, but adamantly ignoring the pounding ache behind your ears. Eskel stands too, once more placing a hand on your shoulder.

“Are you sure you’re alright?” He asks, looking deep into your eyes and searching for anything out of place.

“I’m fine, I just hope I didn’t wake you…” your voice is cold, you don’t want his pity, but you can’t help the apology in your tone as you pull away to pack up the camp. 

Eskel turns as well, rolling up his own bedroll and stowing it onto his horse.  _ Scorpion,  _ you think,  _ what an odd name for a horse.  _

“Nah,” he murmurs, only loud enough for you to barely hear him over the cool morning breeze, “I’d been awake for a while, just meditating. But you cal-” he stops. You hear him take a sharp intake of breath before continuing, “You were tossing around, I know what a nightmare looks like. I couldn’t just watch you go through it.”

You turn to face him, finding him standing at Scorpion’s side, absentmindedly scratching at the rough scars on his cheek. You draw closer, looking into his eyes and finding not pity, but pure empathy. You gently place a hand on his arm, stopping the scratching with your touch.

“Thank you, Eskel,” you whisper, squeezing his arm lightly under the black chemise. You are thankful, too, that he has yet to put on his armor, not quite awake enough to face the real him looking exactly like the version in your nightmare.

You force yourself to step back once more, loading the last of your equipment onto your horse. She nudges into your shoulder as you call, “All set, wolf?”

“Mhm, hang on,” he replies, and you glance over your shoulder. You see that Eskel has finished dressing, fingers still doing up the laces on his jerkin. He kneels to the ground right next to where Lil’ Bleater is still slumbering, huffing a small sigh as he does. He scoops her up, deftly tucking her into his shirt in a clearly well-rehearsed move. She only lets out a soft bleat, not thrilled with being awoken but apparently content with being wrapped in Eskel’s warmth.

Eskel rises, one hand holding the bottom of the large lump now lining his shirt. He catches your eye, and you smirk at him, teasing lightly at just how spoiled his little goat is. You murmur soothingly to your horse, stroking her mane sweetly before telling her to stay put. She trods to stand at Scorpion’s side, the two of them making fast friends while camping. 

…

The walk to the far edge of the woods is silent, other than the occasional snore escaping from inside of Eskel’s shirt. The trees begin to thin, offering a view of a steep cliff through the morning fog. Your ears twitch at the sound of high screams and aggressive flapping, the harpies having apparently made their nest at the top of the cliff. 

The ground is littered with stray feathers and leaves, the soil saturated with blood. The air smells of death and decay, which you know will only get stronger the closer you get to the nest. Eskel silently gestures to the left, where you can see a gentle slope leading to the top of the cliff. You nod before slowly moving, your steps light on the forest floor so as not to attract unwanted attention too soon. 

The sound of the beasts fades a bit as you make your way along the edge of the trees, not quite far enough away to justify leaving the cover just yet. Once their screams are only heard under the sounds of the nearby stream do you stall, looking back at Eskel to make sure that he is ready. He holds up a hand and steps away, bending low at the base of a tree a few steps further into the woods. You see him make the sign for  _ Axii,  _ and you know that he has set Lil’ Bleater somewhere safe and made sure that she wouldn’t leave. 

He returns, and you both draw your silver swords. You reach into your pack to find your oils and potions, offering him the small bottles to use for himself as well. You both make your way forward, breaking free from the trees and keeping your eyes up to watch for any stray visitors. As you begin to ascend the slope, you can tell that there are likely around ten harpies at the crest. It should be easy pickings between the two of you, having both taken down numerous larger beasts over the years.

You both move to flank either side of the nest before rushing into the center of the fray. The beasts take notice of you instantly, screaming and diving towards you. Eskel’s back presses against yours and you move in tandem, swinging and casting signs in every direction. You step forward and he steps back, covering each other instinctively even after all of these years. You both take down harpy after harpy, swiftly moving towards the central nest. You can feel the crackle of latent chaos behind you, Eskel’s magic bubbling and spilling into the air.

Before you can throw a samsum bomb into the branches of the nest, Eskel yells your name, causing you to turn to him and see him cast  _ Aard  _ in your direction. You fly backwards, preparing to land in a crouch, but you feel the sharp scratch of claws along your shoulder and down your arm. You land gracelessly, dust flying around you as you scramble back to your feet. Blood trickles down your arm and you switch your sword to your other hand as you take in your surroundings. 

Eskel is focused, swinging with the precision of a well-oiled machine. You find yourself gawking at him, a heat blooming low in your stomach that you had long forgotten was there. His jerkin swings as he spins, catching one of the last harpies with the tip of his sword. She falls to the ground and Eskel lunges, thrusting his sword deep into the beast’s abdomen. You see the last harpy turn and dive towards him and you close the distance between the two of you. 

Just as she is about to plunge her claws deep into his back you jump between them, casting  _ Igni  _ as you move. The harpy plummets in a burst of flames, screaming and writhing until, with a quick slash of your sword, you remove her head from her body. 

The air is still, suddenly silent as you turn to face Eskel once more. You can hear his heart now, escalated for a witcher but still inhumanly slow. His hair is disheveled and there is a tear in one of his gauntlets, but he is otherwise unharmed. His golden eyes travel over your figure, and you know that he is trying to see if you are harmed as well. He stops at your arm, the sharp smell of your blood filling the air. 

“You’re hurt,” Eskel says, stepping forward and offering his hand to help you. 

You shake your head, “Honestly, it’s nothing I’ve never dealt with before. Hell, it’s not even the worst that something got me this  _ year _ .”

You move towards the harpy on the ground in front of you, crinkling your nose at the scent of her burnt skin. You take out your dagger and you hear Eskel do the same behind you, dismantling the beasts to refill your supplies and collect your rewards. 

The two of you make short work of the bodies, the pain in your arm settling to a dull ache. You know that the bleeding has not stopped yet, but it is slow enough to not be concerning. You whistle for your horses, loading your saddlebags with your trophies. Eskel drops one of the samsum bombs into the nest, the small explosion burning away all evidence of the beasts that lived there not so long ago.

“Want a hand wrapping that up?” Eskel mounts Scorpion as he asks, taking the reins casually as he watches you. 

“You know what? If you wouldn’t mind, I’d love to have some help with cleaning this up,” you grab the reins with your uninjured arm and walk alongside your horse, not wanting to agitate your wound further by trying to climb into the saddle. 

He nods and you begin the trek back to the camp. You take a deep breath in as you walk, the scent of the herbs in the forest, and oranges cutting through the metallic smell of your blood. It calms you, and you allow yourself to drift, relaxing into the steady sound of Eskel’s heartbeat from above. 

He clicks his tongue, slowing Scorpion to a stop as he dismounts just inside of the treeline. He vanishes for a brief moment before reemerging, Lil’ Bleater nipping at his heels. It seems that her calm demeanor has dissipated, bleating at Eskel loudly for attention. She trots up to you and gently nudges against your leg, apparently deciding to walk beside you for the time being. 

You make your way back to the clearing around the stream, leaving your horses at the edge while you clean up. Lil’ Bleater bounds through the grass, energy threatening to burst at the seams. 

You begin to rid yourself of your armour, slipping the sheathes for your swords from your back. You raise your arm to remove the sturdy fabric of your shirt, hissing when your shoulder stretches and the wound flares with a fresh burst of pain. Eskel is at your side in an instant, silently moving to take over where you had left off. 

His fingers pull at the strings tying the front closed and they loosen, already starting to take the pressure off of the broken skin. You slide your uninjured arm out of the sleeve while Eskel gently pulls the other sleeve down. The leather angers your tender skin and you feel the trickle of fresh blood seeping into the wound. 

Eskel sets the clothing down, leaving the torn sleeve facing upwards so that any blood on the fabric won’t spread. You look down at your arm to assess the damage. Your white chemise has a long tear in the sleeve and the edges are stained a bright red. The smell of copper has only intensified with the exposure of your injury. You can’t get a good look at it though, the light fabric of your shirt sticky with blood. 

Eskel seems to be thinking along the same lines as he steps closer to you. “May I? We need to get that cleaned,” he says, not meeting your eyes. He’s always been a bit bashful, you think, a timid deer trapped in the body of someone who shouldn’t be able to feel such trivial nonsense. You nod, lifting your arms slightly so that he may help. 

The laces at your chest are already untied, you tend to leave them that way so that they won’t restrict your movements. You feel his fingers at your waist as he tugs your chemise from the waist of your trousers. Eskel carefully slides his hand up under the fabric, pulling it away from your frame as you thread your uninjured arm down from the sleeve. You duck, Eskel lifting the neck of the shirt up and the rest of it following until only your wounded arm remains clothed in the sticky fabric. He gently peels it away, small goosebumps forming along any skin not drenched in your blood. The shirt falls to the ground in a cascade of white and red, casting a scent of copper and sweat and the forest floor into the air as it crumples on the ground.

You stand before Eskel clad only in a brown leather corset, only tied tight enough to offer support for your figure. You can tell that he is conflicted, trying to be polite and not look anywhere deemed inappropriate, but he also needs to look at you to help you. 

“Hey,” you joke lightly, “I know my shoulder is gorgeous, but it is just a shoulder.”

Eskel huffs out a short bark of a laugh, the tension in the air beginning to melt away. He leads you to sit at the edge of the stream atop of a rock, and you take a deep breath in an attempt to quiet the thoughts running around your head. He kneels in front of you before dipping a spare piece of cloth into the water, letting it soak before lifting it and gently running it down the wound. You shiver, but not from the pain or the chill of the water, but from the tender strokes that Eskel uses to clean the dirt and dried blood from your arm.

You’ve never been ashamed of being bare in front of someone, maybe apologetic at times for the numerous scars but never anything more than that. But in this moment, there is something strangely intimate between you, and while it is unsettling to say the least, you cannot say that you’d rather be alone. 

“You know,” you start quietly, his eyes flashing like the sun to yours before blinking back to your arm, “I thought you were dead too…”

Your voice trails off at the edge, unsure of where you were headed with that trail of thought. You see Eskel’s brow furrow and he turns your arm a bit, looking to be sure that you were completely clean. 

Apparently satisfied, he asks, “How is that? I haven’t exactly gone underground, and I hear about the others often enough to know that they’re alright.”

You shake your head as he moves to grab your ruined chemise from the ground, tearing away the bloodied parts of the fabric and rending the rest of it into long strips to be used for bandages.  _ Damn,  _ you think,  _ I had really liked that one… _

“Well, I had heard about you from time to time, but gods? Maybe twelve, fifteen years ago? I just stopped hearing about you. I know now why, people were still talking but not about someone who looked like what I thought you did.” As you speak, his hand moves to scratch at the long scars along his cheek. You long to stretch out a hand and trail your fingers across the angry skin, soothing it with a gentle touch that it has never known. You think better though, leaving your hands in your lap as you continue.

“I always feared the worst. I grieved for what felt like an eternity, thinking that I would never have the chance to see you in this world.” Your voice cracks a bit at the end and you tear your gaze away, watching the gentle trickling of the water along the stream to anchor and calm you. 

You sit in silence for a moment, both of you unsure of what to say next. You feel Eskel begin to wrap your arm in fabric, feeling a bit of pressure at the movement but only enough to know that it will be secure as you continue along the Path.

Eskel shifts and you bring your eyes back to him. He is still looking down as he works, but his mouth opens a few times as if to say something, but then thinking otherwise. Finally, he shakes his head slightly as if he has made a decision, finished bandaging your arm but still keeping his hand along the skin of your arm under your elbow.

“This morning, when I woke you?” You nod, waiting for him to continue. “You were screaming, crying out my name and I could smell the grief pouring from you, like waves on sand. I don’t know what you saw there, and I don’t need to. But I couldn’t stand to see you in so much anguish, especially not because of me.”

His voice drops to barely more than a whisper with the last thought. You can’t bear seeing him like this either, skittish and timid from a life that he never asked for. You know that many people are not exactly welcoming to witchers, but Eskel looks so defeated that you can feel an ache in your chest, tears threatening to fall from your eyes with the wash of emotion. 

You lean forward, wrapping your arms around his neck. He rises a bit to meet you, his hands wrapping around your waist and holding you close. You nuzzle into his neck and breath deeply, letting the scent of oranges and leather and steel soothe you once more. You’ve had more loving physical contact in the past twenty-four hours than you have had in years, and  _ gods, you could get used to this. _

…

You’re dressed once more, only wearing a dark chemise under the straps for your swords. You’ve draped your thick leather jerkin atop the saddle on your horse, remembering that you had seen an armorer in town and resolving to have him stitch up the slice along the sleeve. You turn to look at Eskel, finding him already looking at you. 

You’re still for a moment, neither of you ready to say goodbye. You let yourself take in every detail you can; his hair lightly drifting in the breeze, the scars along his skin, the goat bounding through his legs, his golden eyes deepened with the intensity of a thousand suns. You’re not sure if you’ll ever see him again, but for now, you want to take anything and everything to remember him by.

“Come travel the Path with me.”


	6. Envision

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The question rings through her head, pulling forth a contradictory mix of optimism and pain as a decision is made.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bit of a shorter one here, just setting up for/transitioning to the next portion of the story!

_ “Come travel the Path with me.” _

Eskel’s voice wracks your brain, your mind trying desperately to form a coherent thought in response.

_ He wants to travel with me? Why? Where will we go? Do the others do that? Fuck, he’s probably waiting for an answer, what do I say?  _

In reality, none of this is said aloud. You only stare at him, mouth slightly agape as your mind does backflips in your head. The forest around you is still and quiet, silent save for the sound of pounding heartbeats and leaves rustling in the autumn wind. 

Eskel stares at you, his hand rising to lightly scratch the scars on his cheek. The one on your brow tingles as you see this, and you can’t help but break the eye contact as you rub the scar. You turn to your horse, focusing on the smell of leather and old bread in your pack to keep your mind from reeling too far from your grasp. 

“Why would you want that?” you say, still not meeting Eskel’s gaze as you sense him shuffle a bit. You run your hands along your mare’s mane, the silvery blue strands sliding through your fingers. 

“Well…” Eskel starts, “I figure it would probably be a bit easier if we did contracts together…”

You hum at his words, knowing by his tone that he was holding something back. You let the silence linger in the air, figuring that Eskel never grew out of his habit of filling uncomfortable silence.

“And…” you were right, it seemed, as he takes a slow step towards you. “I just found you, I can’t lose you again that easily…” His voice is barely above a whisper, loose stones tumbling down the expanse of a mountain. 

You look up then, meeting his eyes. Eskel’s face is soft, pleading with you to accept his offer. You feel torn in two, wanting so desperately to follow him to the ends of the continent but terrified of who may get hurt along the way.

“We could stay in the area here a bit longer, and then head up to Kaer Morhen for the winter.” His words spark something in you, anger and fear and bitterness poisoning your tongue as you step away.

“Why do you think I stayed away? Because of some stupid nightmares of the trials?” You ask, not waiting for an answer. “No, I stayed away because it puts every single one of you in danger. I’m hunted, some fucking crazy mage on my tail willing to do  _ anything  _ to  _ anyone  _ to get to me.”

Your voice breaks a little, but you continue on. “I would never forgive myself if any of you were hurt because of this, because of  _ me _ .”

Eskel steps forward, and this time you don’t step back. You look up at him, tears threatening to fall from your eyes. He is close enough to touch, but you only wrap your arms around yourself, hugging your middle.

“The stories they tell, about those girls, becoming monsters of their own making, I don’t know what’s true. But I don’t know what I would do with myself if I lost it, snapping and breaking and hurting one of you myself…”

Eskel lurches forward, enveloping you in his grasp. You are startled by the sudden contact, but soon enough you break differently, melting and sobbing into his chest. You cling to the fabric of his shirt as he rubs soothing circles into your back. 

As your sobs quiet, leaving only wet cheeks and glistening eyes in their wake, you can’t help but laugh a bit.  _ They always said that the mutations stripped us of emotion,  _ you think,  _ what horseshit. _

You pull back and Eskel moves to hold your shoulders. You are transported to when you trained together, him always consoling you when you were bested. 

“If you think, that for a single moment, that we will not kick that sorry bastard’s arse if he ever dares show his face around you, then you are sorely mistaken.” Eskel’s tone is light, but his eyes burn with the deadly seriousness of his words. “And, maybe we can talk to the others, try to find a way to get rid of this guy, and keep you safe. You’ve been running for far too long, let yourself rest.”

His eyes are soft once more, hopeful and optimistic under the idea of traveling together. You can’t help but long for this dream he has posited in your head, and before you can really think through it further, you feel the words spill from your lips.

“Alright, I’ll come.”

* * *

  
  


After some brief discussion of logistics and where to meet back, you had left the forest, departing in separate directions towards the towns that had hired you. You brought the charred harpy head to Kasper, inwardly chuckling as his face pales at the sight. You never have gotten tired of seeing people react to the truly vile things you deal with on a daily basis. He handed you your coin and you tucked it away, apprehensive of your upcoming journey.

Now, you approach the crossroads that sit between the two towns on either side of the forest. You hear him before you see him, his warhorse loudly plodding along the dirt path. As they come into view, you let your mind briefly wander. 

While time is almost always cruel to a witcher, only gaining scars and unsightly wounds through the years, Eskel seems to look even more handsome than you remember. Especially when you know the softness of his soul that resides just under the hard exterior sculpted over decades of thankless work. 

Eskel pulls his horse to a stop just next to yours, smiling broadly to you. The setting sun drapes across his skin, a wash of light shining gracefully along the slopes and planes of his face. 

“You know,” he says as he glances over, keeping an eye on Lil’ Bleater as she grazes along the side of the trail, “you never told me your horse’s name.”

You chuckle, certain that he has been thinking of this since you parted earlier. He has always had a soft spot for animals, intent on giving each and every one of them appropriate names as a part of his family.

“Her name is Lady,” he crooks an eyebrow at you, surprised at the delicate name you’ve chosen. “I called her that because she’s the closest to nobility I ever plan on getting.”

Eskel throws his head back and laughs, drenching you in the sound of his joy. Your heart swells in your chest with the open display of emotion, and you so very desperately want to hear more. As he settles once more with a gentle pat to your horse, he looks over at you with eyes still twinkling with unbridled glee.

“Ready to go?” He asks, and you can’t help the small smile that dances across your lips.

“ _ Yes.” _

  
  



	7. Inevitability

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A journey begins, and someone waltzes in to meet the Witchers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will admit, this one got a little weird. HOWEVER, I love what I ended up with for this character!

The days move quickly now with Eskel at your side. You’ve begun moving north towards the Blue Mountains, the air growing cooler the further you get. The bright leaves no longer grace the edges of trees, but now blanket the ground in the colors of fire and the sun. 

_ They remind me of Eskel’s eyes _ , you think, glancing over at the Witcher atop his horse.  _ Every time I see them, I feel like I’m being pulled down, falling into some abyss behind his gaze. But I just can’t stop looking away… _

You shake your head, blinking away your thoughts. It does no good to dwell on things that can only end poorly, just because you can’t get over this silly mushy feeling that blossoms in your chest every time that you look at Eskel. 

“Shhh, Lady,” you croon at the mare, gently patting her neck as she bristles under your hand. Lil’ Bleater is as hyper as ever, darting and weaving through the horses’ legs as you walk. Scorpion is accustomed to it, plodding along unwaveringly. Lady, however, is still working on it. She walks more warily, afraid of stepping on the little goat or tripping over her. Lady even snapped at her once for the incessant headbutting against her knees. Since then, Lil’ Bleater has calmed that habit a bit, reserving it for Eskel and Scorpion. You know that Lady cares for the goat though, having caught them both resting one evening, Lil’ Bleater curled up into the crook of Lady’s neck. 

You hop down from your saddle as you approach a fencepost pointing to a village in the distance. “Should we go by here, see if there’s any last-minute work we can do?” You look back to Eskel, still sitting atop Scorpion. 

“Sure,” he says as he glances towards the town, “we still have a couple of days before we need to head to the keep, so we can see if they need anything.”

You swing yourself back into the saddle, settling in before rubbing the leather of the reins between your fingers. It’s well worn and soft, something familiar to hold onto in the face of waves of change. 

Eskel’s voice brings you back to reality, but you hadn’t heard a word he said. “Sorry, what?” You tilt your head in confusion, neither of you yet moving towards the village. 

“I asked if you wanted a little race. First one to the town wins, loser buys the first ale.” He smiles, cocky and sure of himself as he extends the offer.

You turn back to the road, gripping the reins tighter in your hands. “Oh, you’re on. Hope you’ve got your coin ready.”

You hear him chuckle as he rights himself in the saddle before calling, “Ready, set...GO!”

You snap the reins and dig your heels into the side of your horse, Lady taking off beneath you. The wind chills you to the bone and your hair flies across the air behind you. You can hear the hearts around you, the quick fluttering of the two horses’ and the slower thrum of Eskel’s. You feel yours more than hear it though, pounding through your veins as strongly as the hooves on the ground as you race to the town. You wish that you could fly if it felt like this, exhilarating and freeing.

You pull Lady to a stop just past the archway into the village, Eskel just behind you. You jump down, boots kicking up leaves underfoot as you spin. You laugh heartily, the adrenaline coursing through your blood and rising to your cheeks. 

You reach into your saddlebags and grab an apple, gently presenting it to Lady for a job well done. “Well,” you start, breath heavy in the chill of autumn, “I suppose you owe me an ale, slowpoke.” You see Lil’ Bleater trot through the gate as well, unhurried as she finds a patch of grass to munch on. 

“Yeah, yeah,” Eskel hops down as well, leading Scorpion towards the inn at the center of town. “You know, I don’t think it’s very fair if you use your beauty to charm the wind into letting you win.”

You feel yourself flush, swiftly avoiding the compliment and huffing out “I never was good at charming things, you remember when you tried to show me what you had learned when you returned from Ban Ard?”

He hums, content to relive the memory in silence. You both hand the horses to the stablehand, Eskel handing over an extra bit of coin with explicit instructions to keep an eye on Lil’ Bleater as well.

You stroll into the inn, expecting stares and a cool disposition from the people already there. Instead, you see only smiles and warmth, the innkeeper rushing to Eskel’s side.

“Oh, well met, dear Witcher!” he says, clapping Eskel loudly on the shoulder, clearly having met him before. Eskel returns the gesture, shaking hands and leaving you a very confused mess. You drift over to a corner of the room, settling into a chair as Eskel secures a room and some supper for you both. 

You sit in silence for a moment, eyes on your companion as someone slides into the chair across from you. Your gaze snaps to him, threatening in its intensity.

The man does not wilt, only flashes a bright smile in your direction. “Well, never thought I’d meet a Lady Witcher in this little town.” His voice is charming, smooth and lilting in your ears. 

You’re growing tired of this little nickname people have dubbed you with, opening your mouth to once again correct his title of you.

“Ah, ah, don’t fret, I know you’re not  _ actually  _ nobility or anything, let me buy you an ale?” He oozes confidence as he waves towards the barmaid, and you soon have a drink in your hand. 

You hum as you sip, the alcohol warming you as you take in the man sitting across from you. He is tall, not quite as tall as Eskel but still more so than you. He is dressed in almost offensively bright colors, his doublet open and chemise untied at the top. His hair hangs gently, framing his face in chestnut waves, and his face is soft, kind, the kind of face that could smile his way into your bedroom and then right back out of your life. But his eyes, they speak of a knowledge so profound, so infinite, that it takes your breath. They are the color of cornflowers shining with morning dew, something deep and powerful flickering behind them.

Your medallion sits still on your skin, and as you glance back to Eskel you see that he is still engaged in conversation with the innkeeper, not having noticed your new guest. You choose your words carefully, not sure exactly what you’re getting into. “And what may I call you, to thank you for the refreshment?”

He smiles, cheeks dimpling as he lifts his own drink. He takes a long draw from the cup, bringing it back to the table as he smirks across the table. “I am known by many names, but you, my dear? You may call me Jaskier.”

At the mention of his name, you feel an unnatural calmness settle over you, as if someone cracked an egg over your head and let it drip down your body. You stare into his eyes, clear as the winter sky overhead, and you feel fear for the first time in a  _ very  _ long time. 

“Now, don’t worry that stubborn little head of yours, I won’t hurt you. I’m only here to relay a message.” You find yourself unable to move, your hand still gripping the handle of the half-empty tankard of ale on the table. Jaskier leans back in his chair with effortless grace, lithe legs coming up to rest on the table.

But, with no warning, he suddenly slams the chair down, leans back over the table, and lets his gaze bore into your eyes. Something has shifted over them, and you fight the overwhelming urge to slip into sleep. The fight does not last long though, a void of darkness shrouding your senses.

* * *

You are on the top of a mountain, much like the one from your nightmare. However, instead of seeing Eskel, dead on his side, you see several people at the edge of the cliff. A somewhat plain-looking man, and a raven-haired woman, her cloak drifting in the wind as she stalks away from the group. You watch as she goes, but are quickly pulled back to the group by yelling. 

“If life could give me one blessing, it would be to take you off my hands!” You can feel the anger radiating from the man who said it, and the hurt rolling off of the target of his rage, whose back is to you. You’d know that yelling anywhere, especially considering the ashen hair swirling around his face. Geralt had always been a head case, emotions exploding in hurtful words that sting with their venom. 

As the other man turns, metaphorical tail tucked between his legs walking towards the forest, your mouth falls open in disbelief. “Jaskier?” you breathe, watching as he hurries past you and disappears into the trees. He hadn’t looked like the smooth-talking man that had cornered you in the tavern, he looked like he was going through hell. Physically, it was as if he hadn’t aged a day. But he looked emotionally exhausted, clearly going through some sort of inner turmoil that has turned him into a husk of his former spirit. 

A hand settles on your shoulder, squeezing lightly. You turn and see the Jaskier from the tavern, but he is solemn, none of the previous youthful exuberance in his expression.

“You’re not the only one with a destiny…” he murmurs, his eyes leaving yours to rest on Geralt, who is now sitting on a log with his head in his hands. 

Your eyebrows scrunch in confusion as Jaskier turns back to you, his hand squeezing hard on your shoulder. You wince, blinking your eyes shut. 

* * *

Suddenly, you are standing in a field of poppies and buttercups, the bright reds and yellow petals drifting in the breeze and tickling your ankles. The sun is setting, painting the sky in broad strokes of warmth, glorious in its embrace of the earth underneath.

Silhouetted against the setting sun stand two people holding each other close, their foreheads touching. He holds her face gently, stroking her cheeks with his thumb as his chest rises and falls under her hands. 

You move closer, the flowers parting like waves through your legs. As you approach, you see the scars on the man’s face, the hair flowing in the breeze behind the woman. You can hear your heartbeat ring in your ears as you get close enough to touch, but you can’t bring yourself to interrupt this moment. Eskel’s eyes are closed, as are yours, and the serenity of you both is palpable in the air. 

You feel eyes on you and you spin, facing Jaskier once more.

“What is all of this? Who... _ what  _ are you?” you whisper, glancing back at the image of peace behind you, worried that it will be snatched from you before you can commit it to memory.

“I trust that you received my dream,” your eyes widen at Jaskier’s words, flashing back to the vivid pain and terror of cradling Eskel’s motionless body. 

You steel yourself before meeting his eyes once more, this time finding only sorrow that comes with infinite wisdom. “That was your doing?”

He nods, moving to stand beside you as he watches the open display of affection just behind you. “There are two outcomes to your life, one in that dream, and one here. It’ll take work, but it’s your choice.”

You suck in a breath, the taste of poppies and  _ love  _ filling your senses. “How do you know?”

Jaskier only shrugs, the gesture noncommittal in its silence. You both stay like this for gods know how long, staring in opposite directions, the sun never fully setting in this paradise. 

When he murmurs your name your jaw clenches, your eyes welling up with unshed tears. Leaving this place, this perfection, feels like shoving a fire poker straight into your gut. You glance back one last time, tracing every slope and edge of the two people’s features, the bliss almost smothering in its temptation. 

“Before we leave,” your voice low and soft at the edges, “tell me, what are you?”

You can hear the smile in his voice, something sweetly sinister lacing the words. “Me? I am but a humble storyteller, my dear.”

“But these stories, they haven’t happened yet.”

You feel his breath on your ear as he leans in and whispers, “I know.”

When you finally meet Jaskier’s gaze, it is blinding in its intensity, knocking you back as you blink the light away.

* * *

You’re back in the tavern, seemingly not a moment having passed during your  _ conversation (?)  _ with Jaskier. Your hand is still almost painfully clenched around the cup and you drop it, the metal clanging to the ground. 

Your eyes dart around the room, searching for  _ any  _ familiar face. Jaskier is nowhere to be seen, and when you stand, the world spins around you. You throw out a hand to catch yourself on the table, but a pair of strong arms wraps around you before you can fall.

“What’s going on, are you alright?” Eskel’s voice is rough with concern, his eyes searching yours in an effort to discern the problem. There’s no way you can tell him what you just experienced, not without crying or sounding crazy or vomiting or some combination of the three. 

You shake your head, regaining your balance. “I...I think I just need some rest.” Eskel nods, still looking worried as he pulls you against him, resting your weight on him as he leads you to the room. 

* * *

The next morning, as you leave the little town to begin the trek up the mountain towards Kaer Morhen, Eskel looks to you hesitantly.

“Do you want to talk about it?” He asks, and you almost cry right there from his words. You very much do  _ not  _ want to talk about it, but just the fact that he knows something is still wrong, and he knows that you probably don’t want to talk about it but you know that he is there to listen when you are ready, gods it makes your heart swell with feelings that have not been spoken about in decades. 

You shake your head, not fully trusting your voice as your little group leaves the village. As you reach the turn in the road towards your destination, the gentle lilting of a lute pricks your ears. You glance back towards the source of the sound, halting your steps.

Jaskier is perched atop the trunk of a tree, strumming lightly at the edge of the village. He sees you looking and smirks, and you can feel his eyes watching your back as you turn to follow Eskel down the road.


	8. Petrichor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You're stuck waiting out a storm, and Eskel takes the opportunity to fill in some gaps.

The rain flies to the ground in sheets, soaking the earth in nourishment. You’ve always loved the smell of rain, refreshing and musky as it pours out of the sky. However, it can still be frustrating, especially now.

You’re sitting under the overhang of a small cavern at the foot of the Blue Mountains. Typically, you’d only have maybe two more days of travel before you reach Kaer Morhen. But the rains started early in the morning, soaking both you and Eskel as you raced to the bit of shelter that you found. It was as if the sky had opened and was giving every last drop of water it had, because it is now sometime in the evening and it had shown no sign of letting up.

The air is cold around you, chilled by the rain and the darkness, and the sounds of the downpour echo around the stone walls. Once it was clear that you would be staying here for a little while, you had gone about making a fire and drying off your armor. You’d done the same for Eskel’s, laying everything out to dry in one of the empty corners of the cavern. 

You have your eyes closed and are kneeling, now, trying to use this time to meditate and refresh your senses before getting back on the trail up the mountain. You’ve always been shit at meditation, though, needing  _ just  _ the right environment and absolutely  _ no  _ interruptions. You take a deep breath through your nose and let it out through your mouth, focusing on the motions and slipping slowly into a peaceful trance. 

Though, Eskel apparently had other ideas. He stomped back into the cave, much louder than necessary, probably so as not to startle you. You open your eyes with a sigh, not moving as you flick your gaze over to him. He is drenched, wearing only his chemise and trousers that drip cool rainwater onto the floor of the cavern. There is a deer draped across his shoulders, and he carefully bends down and places it on the ground.

“Dinner,” he grunts, pulling his dagger out as he starts breaking it down. You huff, the defeated noise bouncing off the walls as you move to rise. Eskel looks over at you, his scar highlighted in the light of the fire. 

“What’s wrong?” he asks, holding out the first piece of meat for you to take. You hum your thanks, striding back to the fire as you spear the meat on your own dagger. You place it on the rocks around the fire so that the meat is resting near the flames, cooking as you come back to kneel at Eskel’s side. You’ve eaten raw meat plenty, but you would really rather not if you didn’t have to.

“Do you remember when Sorel would have us meditate?” you ask, reflecting back on the memory yourself. Once he went over the basics you were expected to have mastered it, and he would walk around the room, critiquing whenever someone was not perfect. You had never fully been able to meditate inside of the walls of Kaer Morhen, only able to do it in times of desperation and exhaustion along the Path.

“I remember you being really, really bad at it,” Eskel grins, his lip turned up where his scar cuts through. You give him a playful smack as he stands, setting up his own dinner to cook alongside yours. He moves to sit by the fire and pats the ground beside him, inviting you to join. 

You settle next to him, turning your dagger over so that both sides cook evenly. “I always envied you, watching you just instantly slip into that trance, coming out of it fully rested and relaxed...I’ve never been able to really do that.”

He looks over at you, his eyes alight in the glow of the fire. “Well, I could help, if you like…”

You grin, turning away as you ponder his offer. “Yeah, I think I would like that. Not now, though, I’m fucking starving.”

He laughs, the low rumble sounding like thunder in the cave. The both of you eat in silence, watching the rain relentlessly pound against the earth when you finish. 

“At least the wind has slowed, maybe we’ll be able to leave in the morning,” Eskel mumbles, wiping his dagger off on his trousers before resheathing it and placing it with Scorpion’s saddle. He is laying next to Lady, Lil’ Bleater smushed between them as they all sleep. 

You undo the bedrolls, setting them close enough to each other so that you can both see the entrance of the cave. You lay back, watching as Eskel removes his chemise and places it to dry with his armor. Your eyes rove over his form, admiring the strong lines of his back and the muscles of his arms that ripple with every movement. You can feel a telltale heat unfurling in your core, but you quickly shake it off, not wanting to break the relationship that you’ve been in the process of repairing. 

His body is littered with scars, lines that speak of decades of pain and mistreatment. You have many similar ones, but you see some that criss-cross his back that look suspiciously like a whip. Your heart breaks at the sight, but you know that he doesn’t want your pity. The life of a Witcher is one filled with scars, but that doesn’t make them hurt any less.

As he lays down on the bedroll next to you, Eskel turns to rest on his side facing you. You’re close enough to reach out and touch him, but he does it first. His hand brushes along the scar at your brow, a shiver running down your spine with the touch. You keep your eyes locked on his as his hand trails down your cheek before falling back to his side. You let out a breath that you hadn’t realized you were holding, and you feel like the mages at Aretuza would be able to hear your heart with how loud it is pounding. 

You return the gesture, slowly lifting your hand to Eskel’s cheek. His eyes close as you touch him, completely still as your eyes trail the movement of your hand. Your fingers brush over the ridges and valleys of the scar, wishing that you could take the pain away. You gently stroke your thumb along his face, trailing across his nose and down to where it turns the top of his lip. 

Suddenly, Eskel moves, holding your hand with his own against his cheek. He sighs into the touch, your heart breaking at the sight of the man so starved for a gentle touch. If he asked you, you know that you would spend the rest of your life right here, holding him as he wars with himself. 

“Would you like to know what happened?” Eskel whispers, his hand squeezing yours lightly. 

You swallow, willing your voice not to shake as you reply, “Only if you’d like to tell me.”

He opens his eyes, the golden rings shining with decades of torment and betrayal. “I’d like to.”

You scoot just a little bit closer, resting your hand on his chest as he takes a deep breath. You can hear his heart beating quicker than normal, and you tenderly run your fingers over the wolf medallion that hangs from his neck.

“Right after we left Kaer Morhen the first year, I was stupid.” You watch as he swallows before continuing, his voice husky with long-buried emotions, “I ended up saving some prince from a bunch of werebbubbs, and instead of asking for something normal, like gold or a hot meal, I claimed the Law of Surprise.”

Your mouth falls agape, shocked that he would do such a thing. You had heard the rumors about the fabled custom, and while you know that it used to be the standard for Witchers to request that, the practice had long since died out. 

“I ran as soon as I heard that the prince’s wife had just fallen pregnant. I couldn’t face that, couldn’t bring myself to tear the family apart,” Eskel continues, still cupping your hand with his own. “About fifteen years later, the girl showed up at the bottom of the Blue Mountains, seeking asylum with us. She had heard about the Surprise, and knew that I had a claim to her. It’s a whole long story, but her brother came out of nowhere and tried to kill her. She fought back, but she accidentally slashed me instead.”

You feel tears begin to well in your eyes, wrapping your free arm around his neck and pulling him close. You hold him like this, trying to show your pain and empathy for the whole mess. 

“She sent me a letter, later,” Eskel mumbles into your hair, “I never opened it. I know it was an accident, but I think that we were all just better off living our own separate lives.”

“I’m so sorry, Eskel,” you whisper, still holding him tight. “I can’t imagine what that all must have been like, I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you.”

Shame rises through you as you pull back, but Eskel tightens his hold on you as he looks deep into your eyes. “No, you have nothing to apologize for, you had no idea-”

“But I would’ve, if I had just been there!” you curse yourself once again, ashamed at all that you could have done if you had only been able to face your past. 

Eskel’s fingers tighten around yours and pull them away from his cheek, holding them between the two of you as he brushes his thumb over your knuckles. “It doesn’t matter what we could have done, we just have to move forward. And I am so grateful that I’ll be moving forward with you by my side.”

You lean into him, resting your head against his chest as your mind reels. You know that he’s right, but you can’t help the wave of regret that washes through you. You fall asleep like this, tangled up with Eskel as you fight off nightmares of slashing swords and black suns.

* * *

You wake to the sun shining into the cave, the smell of soaked soil and morning dew tickling your nose. Eskel has the horses ready, giving Lil’ Bleater a piece of carrot before turning to you.

“Looks like it’s cleared up, let’s get moving.”

You rise, rolling up your bedroll as you head back onto the trail, no turning back as you begin to trudge through the Killer.


	9. Arrival

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You return to the place where it all started, finding old friends and older feelings buried deep behind the castle walls.

Night is beginning to fall around you, bringing little flurries of snow in its wake. The great stone walls of Kaer Morhen loom over where you stand at the foot of the hill, just on the other side of the bridge. Lady stamps her hooves impatiently, trying to nudge you into the cover of the keep. Your feet feel frozen to the ground though, unsure of what you may find inside.

_ Gods, I hope we’re the first ones back. What will the others say? Will they be furious? Will they refuse to let me stay? Maybe I should just turn around now, pretend this never happened. _

Eskel sets his hand on your shoulder, calming the anxiety in your mind with the warmth of his touch. “Let’s go in, Bleater’s gonna freeze out here.” As if on cue, the little goat peeks her head out of the top of Eskel’s cloak, visibly grimacing at the snow that lands on her head. She retreats back down as you nod, gently tugging on Lady’s reins as you follow Eskel across the bridge.

The air is eerily quiet, only the wood creaking beneath your feet and the wind whistling through the cracks in the castle’s outer walls echoing in your ears. Eskel leads your troupe over to the stables, taking Lady in hand as he gets the horses settled for the night in their shelter. Your toes tap inside of your boot, trying and failing to discern if you are alone in the keep. The snow has covered any tracks and has drowned out any scents you may have been able to pick up. Never before has a castle seemed so lonely, begging for warmth and finding none.

Eskel returns to your side right as the sun sinks below the horizon. You follow him, letting him lead you through the twisting paths around the crumbling walls, finally arriving in the main courtyard. The heavy wooden doors that lead to the main chambers of the castle taunt you from across the yard, keeping any and all secrets held within without a hint of what may lie behind them. 

“Ready?” Eskel looks over to you, one hand on the door as you continue your private freak out. You are certain that he can hear your heart beating much faster than normal, especially considering the concerned look on his face. Eskel offers a small smile as you nod before he pushes forward. 

The door groans as it opens into darkness. Even with your heightened senses, you can’t see much further than the foyer. As soon as the door slams shut, echoing around the chamber, Lil’ Bleater squirms her way out of Eskel’s grasp and dashes into the keep. You can hear the faint crackling of a fire, the scent of smoke tickling your nose. 

Eskel uses  _ Igni  _ to light a torch along the wall as you follow him towards the main chamber. Now, under the sounds of the fire and Lil’ Bleater’s footsteps, you can hear deep voices. You can’t yet make out what they’re saying, but you now know for certain that you aren’t alone. Your stomach drops, all of your anxiety spiking as you realize that you are now forced to deal with your worries head-on. 

Eskel rounds one of the numerous bookcases first, his features coming into focus as he steps into the light. You can see that you two are actually the last to arrive, the other three witchers seemingly having been here for a bit already. You step behind Eskel, allowing the wash of light from the fire settle over your face as you brace yourself for the inevitable.

The prior conversation stalls, shock suffocating in its silence. Geralt rises from his seat at the bench, his eyes darting back and forth between you and Eskel. He looks much the same as when you last saw him, and even more so from the vision that you saw with Jaskier. You shudder at the memory, Geralt’s golden eyes dripping with apprehension and confusion.

You look over to Vesemir, who also looks just about the same as when you left. He has rounded out a bit, and his wrinkles have deepened, but he still gives off an aura of immense strength and wisdom. His expression is impossible to read, unwavering and calculating.

Lambert is the one who has changed the most out of all of them, he was only maybe fifteen when you last saw him. He has grown, his shoulders broadening and his muscles filling out the previously gangly body that he had. There is a scar down one of his cheeks, cutting through his eyebrow in a vicious slash. He looks  _ pissed,  _ but then again, he always has.

Geralt walks slowly towards you, stopping at arm’s length to regard this visage from the past. His voice is impossibly deep when he whispers your name, your eyes already starting to well up just from the noise. You look away, ashamed, but the next thing you know you’re being swept into his arms, his nose buried in your hair as he takes a deep breath in. He relaxes, holding you close as he hums.

“I can’t believe you’re alive,” he murmurs, squeezing you so tightly you think he may have bruised some ribs. You hear Lambert come over next, quiet as he hugs around your side, resting his head on your shoulder. Eskel joins from the other side now, his cheek resting atop your head as the tears begin to fall. Vesemir comes last, gathering you all in a tight embrace as you all feel each other once more.

“Welcome home, pup,” Vesemir’s words send something through you, a warmth cracking through the shame and fear that has surrounded your heart for so long that you thought it was a part of you. It falls away, leaving you raw and vulnerable as you sob into Geralt’s chest, surrounded by your family.

* * *

“Who the fuck does this mage think he is???” Lambert exclaims, resuming his pacing around the edge of the room. The rest of you are sitting at the table, a cup of hot tea warming your palms as you have told your story. After the initial shock wore off, you had shed your cloak and started explaining your long, winding journey that has kept you from returning. Eskel has stayed at your side, his presence soothing in the soft safety of his silence. 

The part you had been most worried about turned out to not be of concern. You told the others about the girls of the Black Sun, but the only thing anyone seemed to care about was the mage who had been hunting them down. 

“Should we send a message to the Lodge?” Geralt leans across the table to Vesemir, his own knuckles white on the handle of his mug. The older Witcher shakes his head, humming as he gazes into the fire. 

“No, for all we know, they sanctioned it.” You pale as he says this, you haven’t even thought of that possibility. Your heart pounds as Eskel squeezes your leg under the table, calming you with the simple gesture. “In the meantime, though, I’ll do some research, find out if there’s anything else we can find out about this sorcerer.”

Vesemir stands, stretching his back as he steps away from the table. “I’m going to get some rest, this has been quite enough excitement for one day. I encourage you  _ all _ ,” he looks pointedly at Lambert, “to do the same.”

You feel like you could fall asleep where you sit, so you push yourself up from the table and follow Eskel as he leads you up the winding staircase to the bedrooms. He opens one of the doors about halfway up, revealing a short hallway with a door on either side. 

“All of the old chambers were destroyed in the attack, so now we just stay in the old instructor’s wing. Go ahead and get comfortable, I’ll grab some spare furs and bring them up for you,” Eskel turns and walks back down the stairs, his footsteps echoing in the night. 

You push open the door on the right, finding a plain room behind it. There is a comfortable enough looking bed, a small table, a cushy chair tucked in the corner, and a fireplace set into the stone walls. With a quick flick of your fingers you light the fire, hugging yourself as you wait for Eskel to return.

Right on time, he shoulders into the room, his arms laden with furs of all shapes and sizes. “Oh, Eskel,” you crinkle your brows, “I don’t need all of these!” 

He grins as he drops them unceremoniously on the floor. “Well, I wasn’t sure which ones you’d want, so I just grabbed them all…”

“Well, thank you,” you smile, thumbing through them before finding a soft grey fur that doesn’t smell fucking terrible. 

You hear Eskel lingering behind you, and when you turn you see him absentmindedly rubbing at the scars on his face again. You hum, wordlessly asking what’s bothering him. 

“Ah, nothing, you know, I should-I should be getting to bed...good night,” Eskel stammers, turning quickly as he leaves all of the furs with you. You shake your head, resigned to bring them back down with you in the morning.

You peer out of the small window, watching thick snowflakes float to the ground before you tuck yourself into the bed that feels as empty and cold as the sky outside.

* * *

You toss and turn for a while, unable to fall asleep in the stillness of the room as you watch the moon crawl across the sky. A soft knock sounds at your door, and you rise to answer it, grumbling to yourself that apparently you won’t be getting much sleep tonight. 

Standing on the other side of the door is Eskel, wearing only his chemise and a light pair of trousers. He also wears a sheepish grin, carding his fingers through his dark hair as he meets your eyes. 

“Can’t sleep?” you whisper, stepping aside to allow him into the room. 

“No, it’s just too quiet…” he replies as you shut the door behind him. “I think I’ve gotten used to listening to your heartbeat as we go to sleep.”

You smile as you cross over to him, “I think I’ve done the same.”

You both chuckle, an uncomfortable silence following in its wake. 

“Why don’t-”

“Can I-”

You both stop, huffing bits of laughter quietly as you peer up at him. Eskel holds out a hand, gesturing for you to go first.

“Why don’t you stay in here tonight, maybe we’ll both get some rest?” you speak quietly, not sure what you’ll do with either response. 

“I-yeah, yeah I’d like that.” 

You smile and nod, moving to lay in the bed as Eskel picks up one of the furs and lays it out in front of the fire.

“Eskel, come lay in the bed, don’t be ridiculous.” He looks up at you then, swimming in his own thoughts as he crosses over to the side of the bed. You hold out a hand for him, letting him climb in behind you. Eskel, ever the gentlemen, lays atop the fur on the bed, keeping a bit of space between you. You lean into him, listening to the slow beat of his heart and breathing in the soft scent of oranges and chamomile as you feel him gently set his hand on your hip. You fall asleep like this, more comfortable than you have been in years. 


	10. Dawn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Morning brings all of the promises of a new day, and helps move forward from painful pasts.

You awake to warmth enveloping you, holding tight around your body and gently coaxing you to wake. A teeny bit of chill bites at the tip of your nose and you nuzzle further into the soft heat that your head rests upon. Something lightly strokes along your arm where it wraps around the middle of what lies beneath you, and you find the rhythmic thrumming of a slow heartbeat lulling you back to sleep. 

You are brought back to semi-consciousness by a whisper of your name against the top of your head. You groan, blinking your eyes and squinting against the dim light of a sunrise just beginning. 

“I’d rather not get up…” you mumble, burying your head back against the chest that rumbles with quiet laughter. 

You tilt your head up and slowly open your eyes once more. Eskel lays under you, your limbs tangled together as he sleepily blinks down at you with a smile. You apparently had decided at some point in the night to wrap yourself around him, your head on his chest, your arm around his waist, and your legs twisted together under the thick furs. He is so  _ warm  _ beneath you, and you can’t tell where his scent ends and yours begins between you. 

“Thank you for staying,” you whisper, resting your chin back down on his chest as you peer up at him. You’re certainly not awake enough yet to face whatever discussions or plans lie beyond these four walls, so you’ll take advantage of this quiet peace while you can. 

“Anytime.” Eskel’s voice is raspier than normal, thick with a slumber that threatens to pull you back under. You feel his hand at the small of your back, his fingers tracing patterns lazily against the thin fabric of your chemise. 

Your heart aches with the simple intimacy, you’ve never had someone  _ touch  _ you like this before. You’ve been on the continent for half a century, you’re no chaste priestess. But somehow, wrapped up in Eskel’s arms, the both of you soft with sleep, this feels so much  _ more  _ than anything you can even think to compare it to. 

Eskel’s voice pulls you from your thoughts. “How are you feeling this morning?” he asks, “Last night was...a lot to take in.”

You sigh contentedly, shifting against him as you lay your head back down on his chest. You let your fingers rub little circles over the soft fabric of his shirt as you mull over your answer.

“I-” you start, “I think I’m okay…”

“...but?” You can hear the grin on Eskel’s lips at the word, a brightness shining through the dull of the morning. 

“ _ But,  _ like you said, it’s just a lot to take in, being back here…” your voice trails off, leaving a comfortable silence that is only broken by the slow beating of Eskel’s heart.

“You know,” you start back up, a wash of courage soaring through you, wanting to break out of the tightness of your chest. “I was-I was scared that, after all this time, everyone w-would hate me, turn me away…”

“Hmm, impossible.” Eskel’s tone is confident, but he still speaks quietly above your head.

You turn to look at him again, your brow crinkling with confusion. He peers at you through half-lidded eyes that shine with the brightness of the morning sun.

“It would be impossible,” he says, “for anyone to hate you.”

You scoff, a little smile pulling the corners of your eyes. “I’m sorry, have you met any of the humans on this continent? Witchers tend to be one of the things they hate the most.”

“Well, they have pretty shit opinions in my experience,” Eskel says lightly, staring down deep into your eyes. You let yourself return the gaze, admiring the soft honesty that relaxes his brow. His eyes are pools of the richest gold, teeming with unspoken hopes and happiness that has been held down for so long.

You feel a twist deep in your gut, something pulling and tugging and pleading with your head,  _ please, please just lean up and kiss him!  _ But rational thought wins this match, shoving the little voice of yearning back into the mental cage where you shove unnecessary emotions. They tend to slip through the bars sometimes, usually in these lavender places at the edge of consciousness, and you let the rest of your mind wander for a bit before wrangling it back in. 

_ Witchers can’t feel. It makes one weak, soft. A soft Witcher is a dead Witcher. _

Sometimes, though, you really wish you could just let it all go, let yourself feel the things that ache in your bones and through your blood. You think of the pure bliss that had graced your features in the vision that Jaskier had shown you, a sweet peace that softened the harsh edges carved by your past. 

Lost in your own thoughts, you feel your eyelids becoming heavy once more, Eskel’s fingers still rubbing light circles into the small of your back. You breathe deeply, filling yourself with the soothing scent of oranges and smoldering embers and day-old musk that hasn’t had a chance to be washed away.

You feel your chin drop and your head jerks back up, blinking as you fight to stay awake. Eskel chuckles, a deep sound of a summer storm that comes in the night, nourishing life while the world sleeps. 

“Gods, I’ve missed you,” Eskel murmurs, his hands tightening you in his hold as if you’d suddenly disappear from his grasp. 

You lay back down, relaxing into the warmth of his embrace. “I promise, I’m not going anywhere.”

* * *

Just as you feel sleep taking you over once more someone comes stomping into the hallway outside of your room, startling you awake.

“OI,” Lambert knocks loudly on the door, the old hinges rattling in their sockets, “I know we’d all love to sleep the day away, but Vesemir’s got shit for us to do, and I’m sure as fuck not doing it alone. Let’s GO.”

You groan and Eskel sighs beneath you with a roll of his eyes. You begrudgingly untangle yourself from his body and rise, stretching before turning around to Eskel and offering your hand with a smile.

  
  
  
  



	11. Sparks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After several weeks of a new routine in the castle, one morning training exercise could be a bit more than you bargained for.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Couple of notes here! First, I know I said a few days ago that I had a surprise coming up, and it’s this! I’m impatient af and I really just wanted to share this new chapter with you guys asap...Second, this is the chapter where things begin to get a bit...spicy...no guarantees for spice in every chapter from here, but there is spice to be had!!!

Several weeks have passed, the snow long covering the path back down the Blue Mountains. You are trapped up here, held in by the old stones that witnessed you grow. It’s odd sometimes, being back in the keep with the other Wolves, but it has been easy to find a routine that helps you heal and turn this place into something you can call ‘home.’

The others have welcomed you back almost as quickly as Eskel had all that time ago, each of them a bit different in their own way. Vesemir had pulled you aside rather quickly, sequestering you into the library with numerous tomes on monsters and fighting techniques. The two of you had spent the majority of a week in there, testing your knowledge and experience with references to the books around you. Vesemir had also insisted that you and the others train together, ensuring that none of you grow lazy and soft over the long winter months.

Geralt had been a bit more subtle. He had never been one for grand gestures, but his actions spoke much louder than his words. The first morning in the keep, you had found a small mug sitting on the floor in front of your door. You lifted it up and sniffed it, your eyes widening in surprise. It had been filled with hot apple cider, mulled with cinnamon and blackberries. You hadn’t found a cider like this in all of your travels, only having had it here in Kaer Morhen as a child. When you had gone down to the kitchens, mug in hand, Geralt was bent over a cauldron on the fire, bubbling and spitting with the same scent of cider. 

“Did you make this, Geralt?” you had asked, perching on a bench as he turned his head back towards you. “It’s exactly how I remember it being.”

He hummed his assent, turning back to the cauldron and giving it one last stir before pouring himself a mug and coming to sit at your side. “It took me a few years to get it right, but I finally figured it out. I usually wait until it gets colder to start making this, but I figured since you were here…”

His voice had trailed off, bringing his cup to his lips and taking a long drink. You had smiled into your own mug, touched by the simple gesture as you lean over and nudge him with your shoulder. “Thank you,” you had said, to which he had only hummed in response. But you know that he was happy to have you back too, a new mug of cider appearing at your door every morning. 

One evening after supper you had stepped outside, watching the thick snow flurries fall around you in the haze of twilight. You heard the door creak open behind you and fall shut once more with a great  _ clang,  _ and you caught a scent of pine and raspberries, tinged with an undercurrent of sharp anger that seems to constantly hang in Lambert’s soul. He came to stand at your side, his arms crossed over his chest as he watched you. You could feel his eyes burning into your cheeks before you finally turned to him with an equally challenging stare. 

He huffed and broke your gaze, turning to look out over the keep as his mouth set in a straight line. You waited, letting him work through his thoughts before speaking. 

“I know why you didn’t come back, I get it,” he started, his voice an aggressive bark with how suddenly it shattered the damp silence. “Doesn’t mean I’m not still a little pissed.”

“I can tell,” you replied lightly, “and I don’t blame you. I left you all, ran away like a coward, like our parents…”

Lambert looked over at you then, his eyes still hard as they ran over the scar through your brow. “How’d that happen?” 

“Leshen,” you shrugged, “not too long after I set out on the Path. I was in over my head on that one, I shouldn’t have taken the contract. But it was good coin, and I needed it.”

Lambert hummed in understanding before sighing, hanging his head dejectedly. “Fuck, I hate this. Why can’t we just be normal, not have to fight everybody and everything all the time just so we can live?”

“We’re a dying breed, Lambert,” you said, shuffling closer to him as you felt the snow start to soak through your shirt to the bone. “Not like we have much choice.”

“But we do!” he exclaims, startling you a bit in his rage. “We  _ do  _ have a choice, we can leave this life, let the humans figure it out on their own and just mind our own fucking business. It’s what they deserve.”

Lambert’s voice was cold, venomous disdain dripping from his lips. You turned to him, watching as his eyes drift over to the far side of the keep. You knew that, just beyond those walls, was the large funeral pyre that had memorialized your brothers that had died in the attack. You took his hand in your own and squeezed, his eyes glistening with tears that he would never admit. 

“You’re right,” you whispered, your voice light enough to settle atop the snow at your feet. “We do have a choice, but should we punish all of the humans for the actions of only a few? Wouldn’t that make us just as evil?”

You could see Lambert chewing the inside of his cheek as he got stuck in his own thoughts. You had long dealt with the grief for your brethren, but you could still understand the anger and frustration that was consuming Lambert. Apparently, he seemed content to stay in silence with you, both of you staying outside until the moon was at its peak in the sky. 

Suddenly, Lambert had turned and pulled you into his arms. He clutched you tight to his chest, knocking the wind out of you as he squeezed tight. He pulled back and turned away just as quickly, running a hand through his hair as he moved to go back inside. 

As he had reached the door he turned around, “Promise you won’t leave again?” But you didn’t see the big, gruff man in front of you. You only saw the young, feral little boy that had wormed his way into everyone’s hearts despite his best efforts. You could still see little flashes of that boy every now and then, something vulnerable and scared that breaks past his surly exterior.

You felt your lips turn up in a bittersweet sort of smile, moving to follow him inside as you nod, “Yeah, I promise.”

* * *

Now though, you find yourself circling the training yard on the balls of your feet. Your fingers were itching at your sides, watching, waiting for the right opportunity to attack your opponent. 

Eskel had woken you up just before dawn, practically dragging you out of bed towards the courtyard. Neither of you is really dressed in anything weather appropriate, both only wearing boots, light trousers, and an undershirt with leather crisscrossing the front. The sky is clear above you, pink and orange rays of light shining through the dark as the sun peeks past the horizon. You can see your breath in the air in front of you, the chill settling the adrenaline that courses through your veins.

Suddenly, you see a flash of the gold of Eskel’s eyes before he lunges, darting forward as he subtly pulls one shoulder back to shift his weight. You recognize this move, twisting yourself around so that when he swings his leg to sweep yours, you’ve already lept into the air, landing in a crouch before forcing your hand just between his shoulder blades.

Your blow overbalances him, sending him forward as he tucks and rolls back into a defensive position. You follow through, swinging your arm low to try and catch him in the side. Eskel parries your blow, but you knew he would. Instead of being forced back in a stumble, you shift your weight just as he blocks you, leaving his other side open and vulnerable. Your other arm catches him there, hitting him hard in the sternum and knocking the wind out of him with a gasp. 

While he may not have been expecting that he still recovers quickly, stepping into the space between your legs as he jams his elbow into your side. You feel yourself flinch with the hit, and that’s all it takes for Eskel to sweep your leg from under you as you twist away. He follows you down, your back hitting the rough stone with an audible grunt. Eskel pins you beneath him, his legs straddling your hips as his hands hold your wrists above your head. Your blood thrums through your skin and you feel like you’re on fire everywhere Eskel touches you. His eyes flicker down to your lips for a fraction of a second, just enough to send a shiver up your spine, your breath hitching as you feel your core ache with want.

“Hmm,” he smiles, close enough for his nose to brush yours. “At least we know I can still beat you.  _ Yield.” _ Eskel’s voice is dark and low, his pupils dilated with the rush of adrenaline. 

“ _ No.”  _ Your chest heaves as you catch your breath, and you feel Eskel’s grip on your wrists tighten ever so slightly.

“No? How exactly do you plan on getting out of this one, Wolf?” Eskel’s weight pushes harder down on top of you, effectively trapping you beneath him. Something new tickles your nose though, spicy and heady as you inhale deeply. You feel like you could get lost in this scent, there’s just something so addictive about it. But you can’t let yourself, leaning your head up to whisper in his ear, “ _ Like this…” _

You plant your foot on the ground and twist your hips forcefully, the shock of the movement loosening Eskel’s hold on your wrists. You wriggle them free as you roll out from under Eskel, leaping to your feet and resumed your blocking position, circling the perimeter of the training yard once more. Eskel follows, mirroring your actions as he loosens his shoulders. 

“Well,” he calls, “seems you’ve learned some new tricks.”

You smirk, keeping an eye on his feet as you wait for an opportunity to present itself. Out of the corner of your eye, you see a small imperfection in the stone floor, a piece just big enough to trip over jutting up from the ground. You continue the circle, waiting for Eskel to align himself in front of the obstruction before you strike.

You cross to him in three long strides, your first blow met with a clean block and your second jab to his thigh a bit sloppy in its execution. Eskel strikes back, spinning into the impact as he goes for your gut. You parry him, sending him stumbling backward. 

It’s one of the most perfect moves you’ve ever seen, his heel catching on the edge of the raised stone. His other leg comes up and he flails, trying to right himself before hitting the ground. You get there first, though, and you slot your knee behind his raised one and catch his shirt at the chest with one hand, the other raised in position to strike. Eskel goes limp in your grasp, but you’re supporting most of his weight with your hips and his own shirt. You hold him there for a moment, smirking a bit before letting him fall to the ground with a  _ thud.  _

You chase him down, pinning him with your hips and his wrists in your hands, a mirror of your earlier positions. You lean down, a few hairs coming loose from their tie on your head and tickling your face. “I guess I  _ have  _ learned something new.  _ Yield. _ ”

You feel Eskel squirm beneath you with a stubborn look in his eye and you double down, digging your nails into his wrists and forcing your hips down against him. His cheeks flush and you feel something hard press against the spot where your hips meet. That intoxicating scent from earlier has only grown, and you feel a wave of arousal soar through you at a dizzying speed. 

Unthinkingly, you shift your hips back forward, letting your clothed cunt drag along him once more, painstakingly slow. Eskel’s jaw is set and his head thrown back in pleasure, the veins in his neck pulsing with every heartbeat. “ _ Yield.”  _ you breathe through your own clenched jaw, arousal swirling around you in a drunken haze. 

“ _ Ah-I yield…”  _ he grates, his voice as rough as the gravely rocks beneath you. Something primal runs through you, drowning out any logical thinking and taking over your body. You feel the overwhelming urge to shift your hips back again, losing yourself in the pleasure it brings. Eskel moves with you, his hips meeting yours as you grind against him, settling into a sloppy rhythm as you feel your arousal building. 

And then, Eskel murmurs your name. He murmurs your name, lusty and heavy and lost in himself, and your brain suddenly catches up with the rest of your body. You are so quickly aware of where you are, what you’re doing, how you’ve trapped Eskel beneath you and have been rutting against him like some lunatic, and the air around you sours with the tinge of shame. 

You scramble back, clumsily getting to your feet and widening the distance between you. Eskel is still on the ground, his face flushed and his trousers tented around his cock. He is looking up at you as if he were just rudely interrupted from a quite pleasant experience.

“I- oh my gods, I am so sorry,” you stammer as you keep backing away towards the door to the keep, “I don’t know w-what came over me, I uh, I’m just gonna go inside now…”

You turn and briskly walk to the door, trying to ignore the shame that crawls up your spine when you hear Eskel sputter behind you before calling after you, “No, wait!” 

When you hear the door close behind you you bolt, brushing past Geralt as he sleepily stumbles down the stairs. He grunts in confusion as you blurt out a quick “sorry!”

You wrench open your door and slam it behind you, sliding to the ground and tucking your knees to your chest. You run your hands through your hair as you curl in on yourself, your heart pounding in your ears and the scent of your own now stale lust suffocating the last of your control.

“What have I done?” you sob.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> also, for reference during the sparring, i used the scene from Avatar the Last Airbender, season 3 episode 6, where a young Roku and Sozin are training...I recently rewatched the series and i STILL cant get that glorious moment out of my head...(I can’t find a clip anywhere, but it is on netflix, I cannot recommend that series enough)


	12. Threshold

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the aftermath of training, both you and Eskel find yourselves confused and seeking advice.

“ _ What have I done?”  _ You cradle your head in your hands, grasping at any thread of control to keep yourself together. Your mind races over all of the different  _ shoulds  _ that you had overlooked -  _ should  _ have kept Eskel at arm’s length,  _ should  _ have parted ways after that hunt,  _ should  _ have not let yourself fall for him all over again,  _ should, should, should… _

__ You think that you could continue on this path, wallowing in your own mistakes that have changed the course of your life when you hear a sudden knock on your door.

* * *

_ “What have I done?”  _ Eskel sits where you left him for a few minutes, stunned and achingly hard, but the latter problem ends up sagging into nothingness soon enough. He runs his hands through his hair, mulling over what he could have possibly done to warrant such a visceral reaction from you.

He climbs to his feet and stumbles over to the stables. Eskel kicks up little puffs of snow with every step, his breath visible as it is pulled by the wind. When he shoulders open the doors he is hit with a comforting warmth from a fire raging in the fireplace. Li’l Bleater bounds over to him, clearly discontent with the fact that it has taken him so long today to come to see her. He typically comes here every morning before dawn, feeding all of the animals, brushing them down, and making sure that everyone will be comfortable until one of them can come let them out later in the day. 

“Already took care of it, son,” a soft voice calls from one of the stalls before its owner strides out. Vesemir brushes his hands off on his jerkin, Lady following close behind him. Eskel leans against the wall and slides to the ground with a huff, Li’l Bleater clambering into his lap as soon as he is seated.

“Vesemir, I-I think I’ve really messed up,” Eskel whispers, keeping his eyes trained on the floor. He finds himself idly scratching the fur on Li’l Bleaters’ head as her eyes fall closed, clearly more than happy to keep him trapped here while he figures out his problems. 

“I noticed the two of you training this morning, seemed like you were really working well together,” Vesemir’s voice is soothing as he runs his hands through Lady’s mane, swiftly untangling the knots and sectioning it to be braided. “Here, come help me.”

Eskel sighs as he stands, crossing over to your horse. She snorts at him, somehow able to recognize the hurt that pours from him. She still lets him stroke along her nose as he offers an apple, then moves next to Vesemir as he takes some of the mane in his hands. 

“Tell me what happened.” Vesemir doesn’t look away from Lady as he works, letting Eskel go at his own pace. 

“Well, we were sparring, working on blocking and parries,”

“Yes, I saw that,”

“And then I overpowered her, brought her to the ground. But something shifted, like we weren’t training anymore, we were-I don’t know. But I felt like I just couldn’t pull away from her, no matter how hard I tried.”

“Mhm, saw that too,” Vesemir hums, Eskel’s gaze snapping over to him. “That’s when I came in here, didn’t want to watch the two of you getting off in the middle of the courtyard.”

“But that’s just it, we didn’t!” Eskel turns back to his braid, having to move back a few because he lost his place. “She twisted out, bringing us back to the fight. But then, she moved just right, and then she ended up bringing  _ me  _ down, and then when she was holding me there, we- _ gods,  _ we just went somewhere, like the whole world fell away and all that was left was the two of us.”

“And then, all of a sudden, she shot off of me, backing away like I was some feral animal.” Eskel’s voice breaks a little bit, but he clears his throat and keeps going, “She ran inside, and I have no idea what I did wrong...maybe I just read this all wrong.”

* * *

“Nah, you’ve got it right.”

Geralt had shoved his way into your room when you opened the door, inviting himself in and making himself comfortable in the chair by the fireplace. You’d just finished going over the events of this morning, trying to figure out the easiest way to extract yourself back out of the corner that you’ve dug yourself into. 

“What do you mean? I fucking  _ held him down,  _ and was  _ using him,  _ no more than some common whore.”

“First of all, you wouldn’t do that to a whore either…”

“What do you know, Geralt? We haven’t seen each other in three decades, you think you know how I treat the people I take to bed?”

Geralt grunts, giving you a  _ look,  _ one that calls you on your bullshit without a single word.

“You clearly care for him, what’s holding you back?”

You give a breathy laugh, looking at him as if he had suddenly sprouted horns. “What’s holding me back? Hmm, let’s see. I’m essentially cursed-,”

“Not true, and we’re going to find that son of a bitch,”

“Witcher’s can’t feel-”

“Wrong again, have you met Lambert? Fucking angriest prick I’ve ever met.”

“And there’s no way he could ever feel the same for me. Why should he? I abandoned him, I abandoned  _ everyone,  _ and then, now, all I can think about is running again.”

“No.” Geralt’s voice booms in your tiny room, startling you a bit when you meet his gaze. The fire in the grate reflects off of his eyes, only adding to the intensity there. You are suddenly struck with how similar he looks to Eskel, their body shapes almost identical and the only major differences between them being their hair and the scar that rakes along Eskel’s cheek. 

“What do you mean, ‘no?’ I am a grown woman, Geralt, thank you very much, and I will not have  _ you  _ telling me what I can and cannot-”

“Would you shut up for a moment? I am not trying to tell you what to do, but you really shouldn’t just run away from this...you have an opportunity here, a  _ real  _ opportunity to  _ actually  _ be happy, shouldn’t you take it?”

* * *

“An opportunity? Vesemir, she can’t possibly love me, I mean,  _ look  _ at me.” Eskel has started a second braid, thankful to be able to keep his hands busy. His braids are a bit sloppy compared to Vesemirs, but at least they’re better than what any of the others could do. 

“Yes, boy, an  _ opportunity.  _ And gods, get over yourself. You think she actually cares about that scar?” Vesemir strokes along Lady’s flank as he speaks, laving her with care under his fingers. 

“It’s all anyone sees Vesemir, she didn’t even recognize me at first…”

Vesemir hums, quietly contemplating his next words. “But once she saw who you were, has she actually given you a reason to think that she thinks less of you because of them?” 

Eskel falls silent, trying to remember if there had ever been a time that you were anything but caring towards him. Vesemir nods, taking his silence as answer enough. 

“You should tell her. I remember when the three of you were young, how you and Geralt would bicker over her, and then you were the only one who still held a candle for her when you all started on the Path.”

“‘Held a candle?’ Gods, Vesemir, sometimes I forget just how old you are.” Eskel teases, bringing a soft smile to Vesemir’s face. 

“Shut it you, I’m just trying to help.”

* * *

“Yeah, well, your advice sucks.”

You pace around your room, trying to see things from Geralt’s point of view. He keeps saying that it would be worth the risk to expose your long-repressed feelings for Eskel, but you can’t see past the horrifying concept of being  _ known.  _

_ “Fucking hell,  _ you’ve only grown more stubborn. What could happen, hm? What is so bad that could happen if you told him?”

“He could push me away, leave me…” you whisper, terrified of that ever happening. 

“Like how you left him?”

You stop in your tracks, meeting his eyes from across the room. Your hands clench at your sides, fighting back the tears that begin to well in your eyes. You know he’s right, but you can’t bring yourself to admit that.

“That’s low, Geralt.”

“But am I wrong?” He crosses his arms, not backing down as you swallow and break eye contact, moving to the window. You look down at the empty training yard below, a fresh dusting of snow beginning to settle atop it.

You hear Geralt cross to the door and open it, murmuring as he leaves, “You guys need to figure it out.”

* * *

Later that afternoon, you find yourself pulling open the door to the library. Eskel is perched on one of the windowsills, a thick book open in his hands. He looks up as you enter, something very complicated flying over his features before he turns back to the book. 

You move to stand closer to him, probably able to touch him if you reached out. “What are you reading?” You ask lightly, hoping that he’ll ignore the way your heart is pounding inside of your chest. 

“Beastiary, just freshening up. I fought an oddly strong bruxa a few months back, thought I’d see if there were anything in here about what might’ve been different about her.”

Eskel suddenly slams the book shut, swinging his legs down from the sill to fully face you. You feel horribly vulnerable under his scrutinizing gaze, even though all you can see is confusion and weariness in his eyes. 

“I just wanted to say-”

“You know, I think that-”

You both chuckle lightly, the tension palpable in the room when you both speak. Eskel gestures to you, silently asking you to speak first once more. 

You take a deep breath and steel your nerves. “I wanted to apologize for earlier.” You hold up a hand as Eskel starts to sputter, clearly some argument coming to his lips. “It was inappropriate for me to take advantage of the situation like that, and I hope that you’ll forgive me.”

“Forgive? Listen, if anyone should be apologizing, it’s me, I just-”

“Eskel please, I just want to say this one thing.” He sighs and relents, falling quiet as he gently runs his thumb along the spine of the book. You can’t tear your eyes away from it as you speak, each word like a stab in the heart.

“I think it would be easiest if we both just forgot that it happened. We can move on, still be friends, I wouldn’t be able to forgive myself if you were cross with me after this.”

Eskel looks as if he had just been slapped across the face with a fish, mouth agape and confusion written in every line on his skin. 

“I-well, uh, if that’s what you want, that’s fine, um...” 

You try to ignore the hurt that plagues his features, and the sorrowful scent that the room adopts and lets seep into the pages of the books tucked in the corners. 

Instead, you extend your hand, bracing for him to slap it away and scream horrible things in your face. You know better though, Eskel has never been like that. He stews, lets the wrongs done against him sit deep in his belly until all of his anger bubbles over into an outburst of rage. 

For now, though, he just takes your hand in his and gives a little shake, neither of you looking as though this was the outcome you had been hoping for.


	13. Amnesty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A plan is made and actions forgiven, but can they truly be forgotten?

The dead of winter is suffocating, blankets of snow and ice isolating in its grasp. The rift that has formed between you and Eskel doesn’t help either. It’s clear that you’re both trying to keep the peace, but tension has settled itself in the air that separates you from one another. You’ve been civil though, and both of you have been attempting to lighten the atmosphere in your relationship. 

You just hope that it will be enough, enough for him to forgive you.

After supper one evening, Vesemir instructs you all to meet him in the library. You all grab a tankard of ale and follow him, letting the warmth of the alcohol thaw your veins. 

“So, I’ve made some progress on finding information on our elusive mage,” Vesemir says as he sits in a comfortable looking chair by the fireplace. The light it gives off only helps to enhance the deep wrinkles along his face, and a deep scar on his jaw. You’ve never found out where that came from, and by now it’s way too late to ask. 

“You know his name?” Lambert perks up, his eyes locked on Vesemir. Eskel though, he is only looking at you, hope and fear and weariness and plenty of other things that you don’t have names for filling his weighted gaze.

“Hmm, potentially,” Vesemir hums, reaching into his jerkin for a small journal. He flips through the pages, finally finding what he had been looking for near the back. 

“From what I was able to gather, he’s one of two people to have come out of Ban Ard; first, Irion, who’s been around for longer than I have. There’s also Stregobor, who seems to have written a few books on the subject of the Black Sun, but he seems to have disappeared about two years ago.” Vesemir reads from the journal, flipping back through the pages to see if he had written anything else down.

“Okay, that’s great and all, but what the hell are we supposed to do with just their names? Start going through every little town on the Continent asking for these two?” Geralt sighs, his arms clasped over his chest and his jaw clenched in frustration.

“Calm yourself, Geralt,” Vesemir hums, reading once more, “There’s a couple of different places that they had popped up most recently. It seems Irion regularly taught at Oxenfurt, so someone should check there. Also, one of you should go to Guleta, and another to Blaviken.”

Vesemir looks over to you then, snapping his journal closed. “I don’t think you should travel alone. Whoever this mage is, he’s dangerous. You should go with one of the others.”

Your eyes automatically turn to Eskel, a small smile gracing your lips when you notice the subtle nod he gives to you. “If you’re alright with it, I think we should go to Oxenfurt. I helped a professor there not too long ago, and she seemed friendly enough.”

Eskel hums at your suggestion, mulling it over before nodding once more. “She’s right, we can use all the help we can get, especially if this ends up involving the Lodge.”

“I’ll take Blaviken,” Geralt says, his arms relaxing a bit now that a plan is being formed. “There’s always a good amount of kikimores along that part of the Pontar, so even if I don’t find anything relevant, at least I can make a little coin.”

“Damn, I was going to take that one,” Lambert growls, “fine, I’ll go to Guleta, I hear they have a nice brothel.” Geralt rolls his eyes as he moves to leave before Vesemir stops him. 

“Pups,” he murmurs, eyes drifting over the four of you, “this is not just some everyday contract. Please, exercise caution, and know when to walk away and send for help.”

You all nod, excusing yourselves to retire for the evening. As you push open the door to your room you hear your name called from the bottom of the stairs. You peek back around, spotting Eskel down below. 

“Can I talk to you for a minute? About when we leave?” 

You feel a pit form in your stomach, but you swallow it down as you step back to leave the door open. “Of course, come on up.”

You hear him bound up the steps, halting at the threshold of your room. You sit on the edge of the bed, looking up at him wide-eyed and a bit more nervous than you care to admit. You offer a small smile to him, patting the spot next to you on the bed in a gentle invitation.

Eskel hesitantly steps into your room, leaving the door open behind him. He sits next to you, his leg minutely bouncing and his hands clasped in front of him. 

“I know you said I don’t have anything to apologize for,” he starts, not meeting your eyes, “but I feel like I should.”

“Eskel?” you shake your head in confusion, waiting for the inevitable news that sorry, Eskel changed his mind, he’s not comfortable with traveling with you anymore, you’re even more alone now than you have been for the last three decades.

“I’m sorry, for earlier,” he says, “I pushed you, trying to turn our friendship into...into something more, but I don’t even know what that is. But I cherish you as my friend, and I don’t want to lose that.”

You hum, conflicted. You’re hopeful, glad that it seems like he doesn’t actually hate you. More than a little heartbroken, since he’s deadset on your ‘friendship’ and how important it is. And a little lost, what is this ‘something more?’ And why does it seem like you know exactly what that ‘something more’ is, but you just push it down and pretend you have no idea?

“ _ Gods,  _ and I hate this, feeling like we’re both walking on eggshells around each other, we don’t need to do that, neither of us is upset, right?” Eskel looks over at you now, his golden eyes pleading and reassuring all in the same blink. You know what he’s doing, offering you an out while letting you see once more that he isn’t upset with you.

You smile at him, scooting closer and bumping his shoulder with your own. “No, I’m not upset with you, I think it just threw the both of us off, losing control like that. I’ve never really had that happen.”

Eskel hums in understanding, fiddling with a loose thread in the leg of his trousers. In a moment of great courage, you reach over and grab his hand, stroking your thumb along the long plane of his fingers. “Leave those here in the morning for me, I’ll fix them so that thread doesn’t keep bothering you.”

He squeezes your hand lightly, the both of you sitting in silence for a bit, listening to the soothing sounds of slow heartbeats and deep breathing and snoring from the floor below. 

You lean your head against his shoulder, finally comfortable at his side once more. “Would you stay again tonight?”

Eskel leans his head against yours for a moment before rising, crossing the room to the door. He shuts it, coming back to you as he kicks his boots off. He settles in the bed, under the fur this time. It’s gotten terribly cold in the keep, and even the roaring fires can’t keep away the chill that sinks in your bones. 

You shiver a bit before Eskel wraps an arm around your shoulders, turning you to face him and pulling you to his side. You carefully set your hand on his stomach, feeling the rise and fall of each breath he takes. You feel your eyes start to droop, almost asleep when Eskel leans down once more, fitting his nose against the crown of your head and taking a deep inhale.

“There’s nowhere I’d rather be,” he murmurs, almost too quiet for even you to hear. But you do, and it follows you to blissful rest.


	14. Tranquility

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Spring brings new journeys and a returning warning.

When the thaw comes, it is simultaneously too soon and not soon enough. Your feet yearn to get back on the Path, not used to an entire season of rest. But your mind still reels back and forth, caught up in everything that has happened in the span of only a few months. Part of you wishes to stay in Kaer Morhen, finally having found somewhat of a sanctuary, especially with Eskel at your side. However, a much more stubborn part of you still feels the urge to run away from the man that makes your heart ache every time he just looks at you, or whose heartbeat you find yourself listening to without even thinking about it. 

It’s not as if you have much of a choice whether or not you leave the secluded castle. Blinding rays of spring sunshine appear brighter every day, bringing a gentle heat to coax the ice and snow to melt into the earth. Crocuses burst through the ground, stubborn and resilient, much like the residents of the castle that seems to refuse to crumble. Your feet crunch across the courtyard towards the gate, the final fragile remnants of winter cracking with every step that you take. 

Lady follows dutifully behind you, laden with supplies for the upcoming journey. Her dark coat is still thick with fluff, just begging you to run your fingers through it. When you had brushed her down earlier you had indulged, feeling the immensely soft fur under your fingers. You sat there for a bit longer than necessary, just petting and scratching along Lady’s flank. 

Now though, you feel rushed, knowing that Eskel is waiting at the gate so that the two of you may begin to follow the trail down the mountain. The sun barely peeks over the summits as you cross the bridge leading away from Kaer Morhen, and your breath still comes out with little visible puffs before disappearing into nothingness. 

Eskel stands at the bottom of the hill with the other Witchers, Scorpion at his side and a bulge in his jerkin betraying the location of Lil’ Bleater. As you approach, you can almost hear Lambert roll his eyes at his brother.

“Eskel, you spoil that damn goat.”

“She keeps me company, and she’s a damn sight better to look at than your ugly mug.” Eskel bites back a smile before twisting quickly, catching the younger Witcher by surprise. Eskel holds Lambert in a gentle headlock as he ruffles his hair, ruining how Lambert had slicked it back earlier in the morning. 

Geralt stands off to the side with Vesemir, murmuring quietly and looking at a map. As you approach the group they all shift, Eskel moving to Geralt’s side. He quickly embraces his brother, clasping him on the shoulder as they break apart. 

“So,” Lambert says, crossing his arms in front of his chest, “you coming back next winter, or do we have to wait fifty years this time?” You roll your eyes as Eskel smacks him on the back of the head.

“Shut it you, or else you won’t be getting any berry cake next winter.” Lambert balks at your threat, holding up his hands in mock surrender.

“Oh, no, that won’t be necessary...you know if you would just tell me the recipe, I could just make it myse-”

“I think the fuck not, I’m keeping that one for myself. Maybe,  _ just maybe,  _ I’ll give it to you when I die.”

“And how in the seven hells is that supposed to work if you’re dead? Gods, if you’re going to make me summon your ghost just for a fucking cake recipe I’m going to lose my mind.”

You smile, pulling him into a brief hug before patting his cheek. “Oh hon, you can’t lose what you never had.”

“Nice, I may have to use that one someday…” Lambert smiles, backing up to help get the horses settled. Geralt comes to stand by your side, his eyes unreadable as he looks over the sprawling valley just below. 

“Please do me one favor.” He grumbles, quiet enough so that you’re the only one able to hear.

You nod, watching as Geralt turns his head to look you in the eyes. 

“ _ Don’t be an idiot.”  _ You turn around, startled that Vesemir had chosen that precise moment to say the exact same thing to Eskel. The older man has his hand clasped on Eskel’s shoulder and his finger wagging in Eskel’s face. 

You turn back to Geralt, remembering your conversation from earlier in the winter. He knows exactly how you feel for Eskel, probably even better than you do. You take a deep breath, glancing down at the valley before looking back at Geralt. 

“I’ll do my best,” you murmur, pulling him close for a hug. Geralt only hums in response, but it seems to be a good hum, so you’re satisfied. 

“Ready to go?” Eskel asks, climbing into Scorpion’s saddle. Li’l Bleater shuffles around with the sudden change in position, her head butting Eskel’s as she readjusts. You stifle your laughter, mounting Lady’s saddle and looking back to the others. You have finally realized that these people, the last remaining people on the Continent who know exactly what you have gone through, because they have gone through the same, they are your pack. And just like the creatures that roam through the forest, your wolves found you, brought you back to them, brought you  _ home.  _

__ You smile, looking back at Eskel, giving yourself half of a heartbeat to admire how the rising sun shines over his features, caressing and bringing to light the true beauty that he keeps hidden below the surface.

“Let’s go.”

* * *

“Alright, ready?” The two of you have been traveling for two days now, almost halfway to the bottom of the mountain. The sun has set, letting a gentle spring rain shower the newly exposed earth, nourishing the land back to life. You and Eskel have taken shelter in a rocky overhang with barely enough room for you all, along with a little fire. 

Eskel has decided to take the opportunity to help you practice meditation. You both kneel, the cold stone floor hard under your knees. You face each other, the only light coming from your fire, burnt down to embers. 

You nod, closing your eyes and relaxing your hands to rest on your knees. 

“Good,” Eskel speaks quietly, his voice a low rumble that tethers you to reality. “Now, we’ll just start with breathing. Start with a deep breath in through your nose, focusing only on the act of inhaling. Not the smells, not the other sounds you can hear. Only your breath, and my voice.”

“And now exhale, letting all of the air out of your lungs. Then just keep doing that for a moment, just focusing on your breathing, in and out.”

You do, roping your mind back in when it starts to wander, letting yourself focus only on inhaling and exhaling. Occasionally your fingers will twitch on your legs, or your nose will tingle, but you don’t follow it, just keeping your attention only on keeping your mind blank. 

“Okay, you’re doing great,” Eskel whispers, and you feel your lip turn upward a bit at the praise. “Now, start at the top of your head. Slowly and deliberately, bring your attention to the surface of your skin, one inch at a time. See if you can feel your scalp, your ears, your eyelids, and your nose. Continue like this, moving across the face, over the ears, down the neck and shoulders, and all the way down to your toes. Just imagine that you cracked an egg over the top of your head, and you can feel it drip over you, slowly bringing attention to each new part of your body.”

As you reach your toes, you can feel your consciousness slipping from your grasp, but you finally let it go. You drift between worlds, held to reality only by the insistent sound of Eskel’s heart beating in his chest, slow and steady in the night. However, even that falls away, leaving only an empty, soothing chasm of tranquility.

* * *

“You know, I had hoped that I wouldn’t have to visit you again. And yet, here we are.”

You open your eyes, finding yourself in a sunny clearing surrounded by dandelions. Instead of Eskel sitting across from you, Jaskier sits there, his legs crossed under him and his hair fluttering in the slight breeze. 

You are once again frozen in time, but this time you can feel control over it. You feel no fear, no anxiety in the man’s presence. Only a bit of annoyance.

“What is it, Jaskier? Why do you keep showing up?”

“Oh, my dear, you really are just as blind as I feared.” Jaskier holds his chin in his hand, resting his elbow on his knee. “I even had those other friends of yours help me, trying so desperately to get the two of you to get your heads out of your asses and figure it out.”

“What did you do to them? Don’t you  _ dare  _ hurt them, they haven’t done anything to you.”

“Yet. They haven’t done anything to me  _ yet. _ ” You remember the first scene on the mountain when you met before, with Geralt and a much worse for wear Jaskier.

“Worry not, though. I only placed suggestions of how to push you in the right direction, I didn’t even show myself to them.” Jaskier smiles, it would have been warm and comforting if you didn’t know better. 

You blink, still not letting your mind wander past the fuzzy edges of this conversation. “I’m not sure what you want from me, Jaskier. We just weren’t built for this.”

“Nonsense.” His voice is cold, calculating. “They may have tried to take your ability to feel, but we both know that they were unsuccessful. You need to face the truth. You can, and do, love Eskel. There’s really nothing you can do about it. But you can either accept it, living out the rest of your days happy and together with him, or you can deny it, watching as he slips away again, leaving you to find him only enough time to hold him as he dies in your arms.”

You shake your head, closing your eyes, seeing that horror unfold once more. His blood stains your hands, his ragged breathing echoing in your ears as you try to push away the memory. 

You take a deep breath in through your nose, smothering the vision, forcing yourself to focus on your breathing, on your body, letting anything and anyone else fall away.

But you hear, almost too quietly and far too close to your ear, “You had better heed my warnings, or else you’ll find yourself past the point of no return.”

Your ears pick up the crackling of embers once more, the smell of smoke and orange soap filling your nose. You slowly blink open your eyes, finding yourself back under the overhang, Eskel watching as you stretch your fingers away from your legs. Sunlight warms the air around you, hours having passed by from under your feet. 

“Welcome back,” Eskel crookedly smiles, “You did wonderfully.”

Your mind still feels a bit mushy, but it’s so much easier now to leave that meditative state. You’re not sure how often you really want to do that though, not wanting further harassment from Jaskier, whoever he actually is.

_ But,  _ you think as Eskel stands and stretches, padding over to the horses to get them ready for the day,  _ maybe he has a point. I apparently know how this will end, why should I keep trying to avoid it? _

__ But you’re not sure if you really believe it. What if he rejects you, pushes you away? What then? 

For now, though, you take Eskel’s hand when he offers it, helping you rise to your feet before continuing on down the Path. 


	15. Anticipation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As your destination looms closer and closer, you find refuge in a tavern for the evening.

You can see the high towers of the university in the distance, just barely silhouetted against the setting sun. You’re still at least a day’s travel away from reaching Oxenfurt, and you’ve found yourselves in the small village of Carsten. You have led your horses, along with Lil’ Bleater, to the set of stables in town, tossing an extra coin to the stableboy to keep everyone happy. 

The dirt is muddy under your feet as you make your way to the small inn, Eskel at your side. You still haven’t really spoken about your feelings from over the winter, hoping that they would maybe go away on their own. 

Yeah. Not going so well.

Eskel opens the door to the inn for you, the scent of watery ale and stale bread filling your nose. You growl under your breath in distaste, really only out of habit for yourself. But Eskel hears and chuckles, bringing a smile to your lips as the sound soars through your ears. 

You both walk to the innkeep, trying to gauge how he may react to the two of you. You’re both exhausted though, so the man will hopefully have enough sense to take your coin in exchange for a place to rest. 

“Ah, and what brings two Witchers into town?” the man asks, wiping the counter with a cloth dirty enough for you to see the residue it leaves behind, even if you didn’t have heightened senses.

“Just passing through on the way into Oxenfurt, looking for a place to stay the night.” Eskel tends to have much more tact than you do when dealing with the public, so you gratefully let him take control of the conversation. His voice is calm and clear in the roar of the tavern, a light smile on his lips in an attempt to win over the owner.

“Well, unfortunately, I only have one room left, but if you have the coin, it’s yours.” He says, glancing over to you before looking back at Eskel. You try to coax your mouth into as natural of a smile as you can muster, it’s so difficult to do when you’re actually  _ trying. _

“You’ve got a deal,” Eskel slides the coin over the counter, followed by a few extra. “Also, could we get two plates of stew, or maybe just some grilled meat if you have it? Anything really, just as long as it’s hot.”

The man returns with your food after a few minutes, handing Eskel the key to the room as well. You follow Eskel up the stairs, ignoring the eyes that track you across the floor. Eskel finds the right door and unlocks it, swinging it open with a nudge of his hip.

“Ah, fuck.” You peer past him, taking in the room. It’s not terribly spacious, but it does have a little fireplace tucked into the wall, a comfy enough looking chair that rests on a simple rug on the floor, and-

“There’s only one bed.”

* * *

After you have eaten and brought the plates back down to the innkeep, you return to the room to find Eskel undoing the ties on his bedroll.

“Eskel,” you say, crossing your arms after you close the door behind you, “what are you doing?”

He looks over at you and shrugs, laying the roll out on the floor. “Well, I was going to just sleep here, you can have the bed.”

“No,  _ you  _ should take the bed, I can’t just sleep there like that and leave you to sleep on the floor, I’d feel awful.”

“You shouldn’t feel bad, this is fine, I sleep like this all the time-”

“Well, yeah so do I, who do you think I am? The fucking Queen?”

You continue back and forth like this for some time, both of you much more stubborn than you’d care to admit. 

“What if we just share the bed?” Eskel asks, already flopping down onto the edge of the bed and pulling off his boots. 

You think back to the few times that Eskel and you have shared beds, mainly over the winter in Kaer Morhen. You tended to wake up tangled up in each other more often than not, and you’re not sure if your fragile state of emotions could handle that now.

But you think that it was less likely to handle trying to fall asleep on a floor that reeked of that same stale bread scent from earlier. So you carefully walk to the other side of the bed, just barely perching yourself so that you can slide your own boots off. When you turn around you see that Eskel has shed his armor and trousers, leaving him only in his undershorts and his chemise, the sleeves of which he has rolled up to his elbows. 

You feel heat pool in your core as you try to discreetly gawk at him. His thighs are massive, and you can see how some of the veins in his arms strain against the skin with how strong he is. You turn to settle on the bed, having already removed your armor, leaving you in a light shirt still tucked into your trousers, as well as your corset and underclothes.

“You can’t seriously want to sleep in all of that,” Eskel says when he turns around, finding you still fully clothed. 

“Well, I mean, it’s fine, I don’t want to make you uncomfortable or anything,” you mumble, looking away from the dark dusting of hair on his chest peeks out from under his shirt.

“Come on, I’ll even turn around so you can get undressed.”

You hum in defeat, standing back up and turning around too. You undo the ties on your trousers and slip them to the ground, stepping out of them before sitting back on the edge of the bed. You slide your chemise off, keeping it next to you to put back on. You reach around your back, feeling around to find the laces of your corset. You fumble a bit, trying and failing to undo the knot at the top. 

“Eskel?” you tilt your head around a little to see him where he lays on the bed behind you. He turns his head around to you, but he keeps his eyes closed nonetheless. You chuckle at the ridiculousness of the whole situation, and decide to stop at the next tailor to find a corset with clasps in the front. “Could you, uh-do you mind helping with this?”   
  


You see Eskel peek open his eyes, trailing down to where your hands still reach for the ties. Eskel nods and clears his throat, crawling over the bed to settle behind you on his knees. His breath is warm on the back of your neck as his fingers tug the top knot free before moving to loosen the laces. You take a deep breath, scenting the sharp spice of arousal on the air. You just barely resist the urge to turn around to look at Eskel, but you are certain that he can hear the way your heart is pounding against your chest. 

When you feel the corset finally fall free you slide the leather up, removing it as you would a shirt. You cast aside the garment, a fresh wave of arousal settling in your core when you realize how exposed you are in front of Eskel. He hasn’t moved from where he sits, and you feel his hand brush your hair aside over one of your shoulders. Even just that barest touch sends you reeling, wanting so desperately to chase the sparks of electricity that run through your skin. 

Before you get too lost in your own thoughts you quickly throw your chemise back over your head, letting the soft fabric flutter down over your thighs. You hear Eskel lay back down and you turn to face him. 

“Thank you,” you whisper, carefully avoiding looking at the bulge in his shorts. 

Eskel hums, extinguishing the candles in the room with a quick flick of his fingers. You lay down next to him, close enough to feel the heat of his body where you almost touch. Your eyes quickly adjust to the darkness, watching as Eskel turns to lay on his side facing you. You mirror him, your faces mere inches apart.

“Can I ask you something?” Eskel murmurs, his hand fidgeting where it lays on the bed, a hair’s breadth away from your hip. 

You nod, raising an eyebrow as you wait for him to speak. You have no idea what he’s going to ask, but you can feel your heart racing with anticipation.

“Do you remember the night before we went through the Grasses? And we-”

“We kissed,” you whisper, watching as he swallows thickly before continuing.

“Yeah, you know, we never actually talked about that.” 

You hum at his words, knowing exactly what he is talking about but not sure why he’s bringing it up now. “I remember...” 

Eskel’s eyes are bright in the dim light of the room, a lightning storm preserved in amber. His hand comes up to gently stroke down the line of your jaw, fitting his finger just under your chin. He tilts your face up, his eyes darting down to your lips and back to your eyes. You feel frozen in time, as if the world around you is holding its breath, watching and waiting. 

“Should I stop?” Eskel’s voice is soft and low, and his breath is warm on your lips with every word. 

“ _ No,”  _ you breathe, closing your eyes as Eskel leans down to press his lips to yours. The air around you is delicate, fizzling with unbridled anticipation. Eskel kisses you sweetly, and you fight to keep yourself from licking deep into his mouth and pushing him onto his back, taking him right then and there. 

Instead, you let him pull back after a moment, his eyes boring deep into yours. Your mind whirls with unanswered questions and arousal and  _ fear,  _ unsure of where this goes next. 

Eskel rests his forehead on yours, his eyes falling shut as sleep begins to overcome him. But just before he slips into unconsciousness he whispers, “I can’t lose you again…”

You lay awake for a while, your mind racing as you fight sleep. But you finally accept it, letting yourself rest in the sanctuary of Eskel’s embrace.

* * *

You awake to sunlight streaming into the room, and what feels like a raging furnace at your back. Something hard presses into your thigh and the events of the night before suddenly catch up to you. You turn your head, finding Eskel wrapped around you from behind, his arms around your waist and his legs slotted with yours. 

You carefully untangle yourself, dressing swiftly and leaving the room, Eskel still deep in slumber. You sit at a table in the tavern and the innkeep brings over a mug of warm tea before you can even ask for anything. You smile wordlessly, taking the cup and mulling over everything.

_ Why does this have to be so difficult?  _ _ I know Eskel cares for me, and I care for him. So why does it feel like I need to keep him at arm’s length? _

You huff to yourself, frustrated as you watch people begin their day through the little window by your table. 

However, what you don’t see is Eskel, waking up to an empty bed, flopping onto his back and holding his face in his hands, jaw clenched with his own frustrations.


	16. Precipice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oxenfurt is a large, sprawling place, with answers for some and only more questions for others.

Oxenfurt is just as miserable as you had anticipated. It’s far too loud, too smelly, someone bumps into you no matter where you step, and you can soon feel your mind getting overwhelmed with it all. You slip into an alley, using Eskel’s advice to control your breathing before stepping back into the street. Quickly weaving through side streets you find yourself at the University with no idea where to go next. 

_ Fuck, you should’ve gone with Eskel.  _ In an effort to prove to yourself that you can handle this damn nonsense yourself, the two of you had split up this morning. Eskel went in the direction of the apothecary, while you tasked yourself with speaking to the head of the University. But now, looking up at the twisting walkways with too many staircases to count, you feel far in over your head. 

“Excuse me, miss?” A young man, probably no more than 18 summers old, approaches you, a dense pack slung over one shoulder. His hair is loose and curly under a little floppy cap and his clothes are a light green, uncommon this far into Redania.

You hum in acknowledgment, looking the boy up and down with suspicion.

“You look lost, what are you trying to find?”

“I’m not lost,” you lie through your teeth, not needing some seedling’s help. 

“I can help you, Witcher,” the man’s voice is clear and confident and when you scent the air around him, you notice a distinct lack of the salty tang of lies.

You hum noncommittally, glancing up at the numerous towers before shaking your head with a resigned sigh. “I need the Headmaster.”

“Well, that wasn’t so difficult, now was it?” the man starts walking, light on his toes as he twists through the oceans of people that feel suffocating in their presence. You roll your eyes and follow, bumping into shoulders and trying not to let your swords get too banged up.

He tips open a door on the lower level, holding it for you. “You first,” you growl, nodding in his direction. He shrugs, ducking into the entrance as you follow behind him. 

When he shuts the door behind you it is blissfully quiet, marble hallways dampening the din of noise from outside. You look over to him, finding him with a stupid grin on his face as he bounces on his toes. You crook an eyebrow, impatiently gesturing for him to lead the way. 

“Ah, right, sorry,” he says as he startles before striding down the hallway. Now that you are inside and away from all of the competing signals you catch the man’s scent, paper and ink and booze and just a little bit of grass. Your nose twitches oddly before you suddenly sneeze, the poor boy almost jumping out of his skin at the noise.

“My gods!” He clutches his hand to his chest dramatically. “I thought Witchers didn’t get sick?”

“We don’t.” You wipe your nose on the back of your wrist as you continue following at a bit more distance, breathing primarily through your mouth. “I just don’t like grass.”

The boy chuckles, shaking his head without any more questions. Thank Melitele.

You keep track of your movements in the school, up the left staircase, take the third door on the right, pass by the courtyard, up two flights of stairs, turn right, back down one staircase, and through an ornate set of doors into a large office foyer that smells of dust and books and wine.

“Headmistress?” The young man calls, poking his head around the edge of the door leading to the main office. “There’s a Witcher here to see you.”

“Very well, send him in.” You hear a curt voice reply and you shift shoulders back before sliding a coin into the young man’s palm as thanks. He shuffles out of the way, giving you a little wave as he departs. 

When you open the door you are stunned by the sheer amount of books along the walls of this room. You whistle lowly as you take them all in, bookcases stretching to the ceiling and filled to bursting with tomes on anything and everything. 

“Forgive me,” the Headmistress sits at the desk, a woman with dark brown hair tinged with grey at the roots. She has a kind face, but one that could turn stern at the drop of a hat. “I thought all Witchers were men.”

You hum, walking further into the room and sitting in a chair across from her desk. She raises an eyebrow at your quite blatant lack of decorum, but she seems amused by it. “I’m the only woman who survived.”

She hums back, leaning in her chair and regarding you with an appraising gaze. “Fascinating, truly. I’ll not trouble you with my personal curiosities, though if you were to ever return, I would love to hear more of your life…”

You blink, a bit taken aback by her absence of animosity. “Maybe one day, miss. Today, though, I am in a bit of a hurry.”

“Of course, what can I help you with?”

You think back to the professor who you had met earlier in the year, deciding to start with her. “Where can I find Professor Malkyn?”

The Headmistress’ scent turns cold, stained with musky rainwater. “Unfortunately, she was killed by a group of bandits just past the border into Kovir. It’s only been a few months, but we still feel her loss greatly.”

You sigh, shifting uncomfortably in the chair. Malkyn had been kind, and was a neverending source of seemingly useless information. You enjoyed her company when you had traveled for a bit together, and you had found warmth and comfort in each other’s bodies on more than one occasion. 

“That’s too bad,” you keep your voice calm and level, “she was a good friend…”

The two of you sit in silence for a moment before you speak again. “I am looking for a mage, and I believe that he may have been a professor here in the past.”

The Headmistress blinks and furrows her brow, flipping in a journal with vigor. “Well, it’s been quite a while since we’ve had any mages employed here, do you know their name?”

“Irion, maybe? Or Stregobor, I’m looking for him as well.”

The Headmistress hums, looking through the pages quickly. “Aha!” She exclaims, handing over the journal with her thumb holding a particular page. “This is the previous headmaster’s ledger, and it says that Irion taught herbalism here for a while almost fifty years ago, but one day he just disappeared, and there’s nothing that says he ever showed back up.”

You grunt in acknowledgment, quickly reading through the writing on the page. “I thank you for your time, as well as your help. Not everyone would be so willing for a Witcher.”

She looks at you with a crooked eyebrow as you rise and turn towards the door. As you exit and move to close the door behind you, you notice her smiling, and with a departing nod, you head back towards the Alchemist.

* * *

Eskel returns not long after you sit at a table, ale in hand. He sits across from you, something painful in his eyes for only a moment before it is blinked away. 

“Find anything?” you ask.

“Not a damn thing. No one here was alive the last time either of those two was in Oxenfurt.”

“That’s what I got too,” you shake your head before taking a long swig of your ale. It’s not much more than warm piss water, but it’s keeping your hands busy. 

“Actually,” Eskel hums, “I did come across a nice enough looking bathhouse...what if we go over there, figure out where to go next?”

Just the idea of Eskel, bare and dripping as you run your hands over the breadth of his chest is enough to have you growing hot in your chair. Before your brain can catch up with your mouth, you find yourself blurting, “Sounds great, let’s go now.”

* * *

The water is almost scalding, with just the barest hint of rosemary oil added in. Your eyes are closed, your head resting along the edge of the marble bath as your mind floats. All of your senses feel somewhat muffled by the water and it’s a better gift than you could ever ask for. 

You hear the door tip open and peek open an eye, closing it back when you see Eskel stepping into the room. He has dressed down to just his trousers and chemise, looking all the world the perfect picture of relaxation. 

You can hear the rustling of his clothes as they hit the floor and the little splashes of water when he steps into the bath. The water swells, gently caressing your skin as he lowers himself to sit an arm’s length away. The groan that Eskel makes when he finally relaxes shoots straight to your core, and the soft edges of your mind begin to wonder just what other noises you might be able to pull out of him. 

A knock at the door startles the both of you before it opens, revealing a young woman, fair and svelt and completely nude. 

“Just wanted to check on everyone,” her voice is almost a purr with how sultry it is, “as well as offer my  _ services  _ to you.” Her eyes are squarely on Eskel, shameless in their observation of his body above the water. You’re glad that the bath is so damn hot, otherwise you wouldn’t be able to excuse the way that you feel your cheeks flush.

Eskel dips his head for a moment and smiles, and your heart plummets in the moment before he speaks.  _ Since when has he been bashful around women?  _ “Well, thank you for the offer,” he says, looking back up at her, “but I will have to refuse. My friend and I have some very important things to take care of.”

“Well, the offer stands. You know where to find me.”

The low burn of jealousy washes away any semblance of tranquility you had as she turns to leave, Eskel watching her every move. The door closes gently, plunging the little room back into silence.    
  


You chance a glimpse in Eskel’s direction just as he ducks his head under the water. When he comes back up you watch as beads of water dip and roll across his skin and through the dark thatch of hair on his chest. You swallow and close your eyes, leaning your head back on the edge of the bath as you try to will away your wandering thoughts.

Eskel calls your name, pulling you from your meager attempt. Apparently he had been trying to get your attention unsuccessfully, the remnants of a question already asked in his eyes. 

“Hmm?” you blink, “I’m sorry, what did you say?”

Eskel chuckles, rubbing his hand on the back of his neck, the muscles of his arm swelling with the movement and tempting you to lust.

“I asked if you’d like a hand, you seem...tense.”

If you were tense before, you only turn worse, your nerves stretched taut as a bowstring, ready to snap at any moment. You let out a nervous little laugh, refusing to meet his eyes before your willpower finally gives under the pressure.

“I-uh, yeah alright, if you really don’t mind…”

Eskel smiles wordlessly as he slides to the little array of bottles at the edge of the tub. You turn your back to him, settling in the middle of the tub with your legs stretched out in front of you. 

“Mmm…” you hear Eskel hum under his breath.

“What is it?” 

“They have orange soap…” he whispers, and you can hear the tiny clinking of glass as he ponders his options. 

You laugh, your shoulders shaking a bit as you glance over your shoulder. Eskel is balancing four different bottles in his hands, trying to scent them all and not spill them into the water.

“Oh gods,” you whisper, still chuckling a bit, “why don’t we save that one for you...I’ll just use a lavender, or maybe some jasmine?”

The water sways gently as Eskel moves back towards you, and now you can smell the lavender soap drifting lazily from the glass. Eskel sits down behind you, pouring some of the soap into his hand before setting the bottle on the edge of the bath within reach. You face forward again and close your eyes as you listen to Eskel work the soap into a lather. He is impossibly warm at your back, somehow making the water even hotter in his presence.

When his hands finally touch you, gently rubbing the soap into your shoulders, you shudder with the chill that runs through you. Eskel’s fingers move with a simple reverence, smoothing the suds down your arms and the line of your back. Your mind wars with itself, wanting so desperately to lean into his touch, but so terrified of him pulling away that your instinct is to pull away first. But when his hands come back to your neck, squeezing and rubbing his thumbs into the tender skin where your shoulders begin, you feel boneless in his arms, your head falling back to rest on his shoulder. 

You feel his chest shaking on your back as he laughs under his breath, still working his hands over the muscles of your shoulders and moving slowly down your arms. “You alright?” he teases.

You grunt, sounding more like Geralt than yourself. Gods, if Eskel always touched you like this, you think you may be rendered completely non-verbal. His hands carefully press between your shoulder blades, slowly smoothing down to the base of your spine. His thumbs move in little circles as his hands move back up, kneading and undoing the knots that have engrained themselves into your muscles.

You can’t fully relax though, something else tapping at your mind. “Eskel…” you murmur, turning your head to where he is settled at your shoulder.

“Why didn’t you go with her?” you nod at the door, referring to the young lady from earlier.

Eskel’s hands still for half a second and you hear his heart skip a beat. He hums lightly as he resumes his movements, his fingers working deftly against your skin.

“Eskel?”

He sighs, looking over to you. Your mind is soft with peace and Eskel is  _ right there,  _ and his hands feel like home, and then he leans down, his breath hot on your lips.

“I didn’t want her,” he whispers, his mouth just barely brushing yours with his words. You sigh into him, closing your eyes and leaning to close the distance between you. You are so close, only the steam from the bath separating you when the door suddenly slams open.

You both startle, Eskel bracketing himself between you and the intruder. It’s the owner of the bathhouse, and he carries the both of your clothes under his arms. 

“Witchers, you must go, they’re coming for you…”


	17. At Long Last

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Destiny looms over as you flee, awaiting your choice.

“Who? Who’s after us?” Eskel is already moving, grabbing his clothes and throwing them on, followed quickly by his armor. You follow suit, strapping your swords to your back as the owner of the bathhouse leads you through a back hallway in the building and down into the sewers. It is dank and dark this far underground, a chill seeping through your boots from the dampness of the ground. The air is thick and musty, and you can hear the quiet scuttling of rodents in the shadows. 

“I don’t rightly know, I believe they may just be villagers from the outskirts of town…” He stops as you approach a fork in the tunnel, both paths bathed in darkness. “Apparently, something happened in Blaviken yesterday, a Witcher went on a rampage and killed almost a dozen people. They chased him out, sent him on his way while they picked up their dead. My guess is, these people don’t want the same thing to happen here.”

You lock eyes with Eskel, scenting the sour tang of fear that blossoms from his skin. Before you can say anything though, he has taken off, sprinting down the hallway to the right. You can smell a distant aroma of some kind of flower, and it’s safe to assume that’s what Eskel is following. 

You turn back to the owner for half a heartbeat before giving a quick nod, following in Eskel’s wake. The tunnel twists and turns, forcing you deep underground through rocky paths carved by ancient seas. Just as you contemplate taking a dose of Cat to see a bit better in the dark the tunnels start to rise, climbing upwards as the smell of flowers grows stronger. The setting sun shines through a large opening in the cave. You explode out of it, finding yourself in a sprawling field of…

Poppies. And buttercups. 

You see Eskel running through the field, his back to you as you remember your vision from Jaskier.  _ This is it,  _ you think to yourself,  _ this is where I choose. _

__ You call out to Eskel, chasing desperately after him as the delicate flowers crinkle under your feet. He stops and turns back to you, his chest rising and falling with deep breaths. You approach him, the gold of his eyes reflecting the glorious sunset around you. You hesitate an arm’s length away before stepping closer, resting your hand on Eskel’s arm. 

“We have to go help Geralt,” he whispers, pleading desperately with you to keep going. 

“Eskel, of course we will go, but we have to think. We can’t just go running into that town, who knows what will happen? I can’t-”

Your voice breaks on itself, unshed tears filling your eyes as you look up at Eskel. Your hands move to his chest and rest lightly on either side of his wolf medallion. Yours hangs heavy around your neck, completely still and cold on your skin. 

“I can’t lose you, Eskel.” Your voice finds strength, a tentative breeze blown into a sturdy gust of wind. “I- I love you.”

Eskel’s eyes widen, his heart beating frantically against his chest under your hands. He brings his hands up, cupping your face in his grasp. He leans down to rest his forehead on yours, a sweet, robust scent filling your senses. His eyes close as his thumbs gently stroke along your cheeks. 

“I have loved you,” Eskel murmurs, his nose lightly brushing against you with every word, “for as long as I can remember.”

Your heart swells in your chest, pushing your body forward to capture Eskel’s lips in your own. You feel his fingers thread into your hair as he pulls you closer, crowding you against him with something fierce and great, greater than you have words to describe. Something clicks deep inside of you, a final piece settling into place as the sun sinks below the horizon. 

You part after a moment that could have extended for all eternity, staying in Eskel’s grasp as you look deep into his eyes. “I’m so sorry for being an idiot,” you whisper, “I made us wait for such a long time, we could’ve-”

“Stop,” Eskel cuts you off, his hands tightening ever so slightly in your hair. “I would’ve waited until the day that this continent ceased to exist, leaving behind only ash and dust, if it meant having you in my arms.”

He leans down again, meeting you for another kiss. You think that you hear the distant plucking of a lute, but it swims far from your mind as you melt into Eskel’s embrace. Your arms wind up around his neck as his move down, wrapping themselves around your waist. Your tongue traces along Eskel’s lips, slipping into the little notch from his scar and pulling a low growl from his chest in response. 

You moan into his mouth as your nails scratch lightly through the thick hair at the base of Eskel’s head. It’s just as soft as you had imagined, and your heart pounds in your chest with the idea that  _ this is actually happening, after all this time… _

A deep, heady scent mingles into the air around you, twirling and intermingling with the sweet aromas of the flowers. It only grows stronger as Eskel’s fingers dig into your hips as his teeth capture your lip, soothing the tender skin with his tongue. Your mind spins and loses itself in the moment, but you are content to float mindlessly for the rest of your life, so long as you could stay here with Eskel.

After what could be mere minutes or several hours, you can’t be sure, you break apart, still holding each other close. Eskel kisses a line down the side of your neck, sucking against the point where your pulse strains against the skin. His lips are warm and soft on your skin, tender movements at odds with the heat pooling low in your stomach. 

“Eskel,” you whisper, pulling him back to you. “I know this area, there’s a little hut nearby that should be empty…”

Eskel’s eyes glint with a dark lust, his chest rumbling as he takes your hands in his own. “Lead the way, love.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> an alternate title for this chapter: Fucking Finally.


	18. Lust

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As the heat of your arousal soars through you, you find yourself pulled directly into Eskel’s grasp.

The stars twinkle in the night sky as you open the door to the secluded hut. The air is stale and still, confirming that it has been abandoned for some time. You light the candles on the table with a flick of your fingers and see the fireplace, set of drawers, and bed in different corners around the room. 

Eskel shoulders into the cabin, having snuck back into the town to retrieve your horses and Lil’ Bleater. Your heart soars, and you hear Eskel’s speed up as well. You set down your swords on the table and Eskel does the same, locking eyes with you before moving closer.

Eskel fits himself behind you, placing hot kisses down the line of your neck as he reaches around to your front. He carefully starts to undo the laces of your armor as the heady scent of your combined arousals fills the air. You turn in his arms to face him, placing your hand gently over the scars on his cheek. 

Eskel leans down and presses his lips to yours, slow and sweet before deepening into a swelling tide. Your armor slips off of your shoulders and down to the floor as you start on Eskel’s jerkin. The leather is thick and warm under your fingers, and it falls to the ground with a thud as you grasp onto the soft fabric of Eskel’s undershirt.

“Please,” Eskel says between breaths, “ _ please  _ tell me that this isn’t just tonight.”

“Oh Eskel,” you murmur, your lips just barely brushing, “it’ll be for as long as you’ll have me.”

Eskel surges into you, his arms clinging around your waist as if he were scared you would drift away on the breeze should he let go. You melt into his warmth and push your hands under his shirt to lift it over his head. Your hands find themselves on Eskel’s bare chest, feeling the deep pounding of his heart under your fingertips and the barely contained chaos beneath his skin. 

“You tell me to stop, and I will, I promise…” Eskel fits his nose onto your neck before sucking into the tender skin, his hands pulling your shirt off of you. 

“I trust you, Eskel,” you whisper, carefully pulling away just far enough to kick off your boots and shuck your trousers to the ground. The floor is cool under your feet as your hands find the clasps on the front of your corset. You quickly undo them, letting the soft leather fall to the ground, followed closely by your underthings. 

Eskel’s eyes follow your hands the whole time, raking up and down your body, almost palpable with the density of his gaze. The spring air is cool on your skin but your skin flushes with heat blooming from your core. You hold your hand out to Eskel and he blinks before slotting his fingers in between yours. He feels so  _ familiar,  _ even though this is brand new for you both. 

You walk backward slowly, pulling Eskel towards the bed. You let his hand go before you move to lay atop the plain mattress. “Go on,” you say, a little smirk pulling at your lips, “get those off…”

Eskel’s hand drifts to the ties of his codpiece first and you feel your heart race a bit just from the simple movement. He clearly hears it too, his eyes alighting with mirth as he moves tantalizingly slowly, undoing the little knots that hold everything in place. The vibrant red strings slide apart and leave the thick leather piece hanging from his trousers before Eskel pushes the offending article to the ground, sliding his boots off in the same motion. He is left in his plain undershorts, the light fabric tented around where his cock juts out from his body.

He moves to lean over you, bracketing his arms on either side of your head and kissing you deeply. Your hands start to wander as he moans into your mouth with only the slightest touch. Eskel’s skin is warm and thrumming with energy as your fingers drift over him, tracing through the dark hair on his chest and down his stomach, stopping at the top of his underclothes. You growl with the interruption of your quest, and your mind goes blank for a moment as you proceed to literally rip the fabric off of him. It falls off in tatters as Eskel groans into your mouth, pushing his hips down into yours with his cock laying heavily between you. 

Your hands dig into the soft flesh of Eskel’s ass as he grinds against you, his mouth moving to the side of your neck, sucking and biting into the skin once more. “Fuck, Eskel,” you murmur, raising your hips to meet him with every movement. 

“I need to know in the morning that this wasn’t all just a dream,” he whispers against your skin, sending a shiver down your spine. The idea that there will be marks left to admire, dark blossoms across your body as proof of your passion pulls a fresh wave of heat through your core and you moan freely into the night. 

“Eskel...” You shift your hips and push him over, settling above him and nosing down his chest. His cock twitches where it rests up against his stomach and you dart your tongue to catch the pearly bead of his arousal that threatens to drip from it. Eskel’s scent is all-encompassing, thick and heady, intoxicating you further with every breath you take. 

You drag your tongue up the line of his cock, twirling it lightly around the top as he threads his fingers into your hair. His legs tremble under where your hands rest on his thighs and he makes a litany of sounds as you take him into your mouth, moans of your name and curses interspersed with low growls akin to the threat of lightning in the distance. 

You hum around him, reveling in the taste of him and the weight of him on your tongue. You hollow your cheeks and move up and down Eskel’s length slowly, watching as his eyes snap shut and his back bows off of the bed. Eskel’s fingers scratch lightly in your hair, tangling themselves as you move with him. 

You begin to speed up, licking and sucking faster as you hear Eskel’s heart pound against his chest. “ _ Fuck,  _ wait, I won’t-”

You pull off of him, holding his eyes under your hooded gaze. “Go on, Eskel, I’ve wanted this for far too long…” Your head dives back down, taking him all the way to the hilt as Eskel growls through gritted teeth. His hips thrust sharply into you as he spills down the back of your throat. Eskel moans your name, long and drawn out as his seed fills your mouth. It tastes of him, salty and musky, with just a tinge of citrus on the end. You find yourself wondering if he just naturally smells of oranges, that maybe it never was some particular soap that he fancied. 

Eskel’s hands are strong in your hair as he pulls you off of him, sighing as he still comes down from the aftershocks of his climax. You climb to hover over him, smiling more easily than you have in a very long time. Eskel cups your face in his hands as he brings you down for a kiss. Your core aches with every moment that passes, but you would not leave this moment for the world, Eskel holding you tenderly in his most vulnerable state.

“May I return the favor?” he growls into your mouth and you take a sharp breath, biting his lip before nodding. His eyes shine with unbridled glee as he flips the two of your over once more, the old bed creaking with all of the sudden movement. Eskel’s mouth moves slowly down your body, kissing over the line of your jaw and down the slope of your neck. Your hands bunch themselves in the sheets beneath you as Eskel takes the peak of one of your breasts between his lips, suckling lightly before moving to the other. 

When he finds himself level with your heat Eskel grins before diving in headfirst, greedily suckling the bundle of nerves at the top of your core. You gasp at the sudden burst of stimulation, your hips bucking into him and your hands winding themselves into his hair. You feel him chuckle against you as he slowly pushes a finger inside of your cunt, coaxing the fluttering walls to open around him. 

The pace Eskel sets is unrelenting, ruthless in his pursuit of your pleasure. Your eyes dance over his body where he lays between your legs, the harsh lines of the muscles over his back and down his legs bulging and flexing with even the most minute movements. Eskel soon fits another finger beside the first, curling just so to hit a spot that has you seeing stars, the walls of your cunt clenching like a vice around him. 

He smirks against your core before thrusting ferociously into you, hitting that sensitive spot over and over and  _ over,  _ bringing you right to the brink of your pleasure. “Please, Eskel,  _ oh fuck...”  _ Your vision whites out with the intensity of your climax, a wordless snapping of half a century of tension that you didn’t know was building. Your heartbeat echoes in your ears as you relax once more, content to let Eskel move back over you. You reach up and pull him down, tasting the sweet tang of your release on his lips. 

“Are you-” Eskel breathes, “Are you sure that you want this?” 

You look up at him, the fuzzy edges of your mind grasping to the memories of your past. The unbreakable bond that you formed as children, the pang of fear at the prospect of losing him in the trials, and the overwhelming relief at knowing that he still lived after.  _ The kiss.  _ The guilt of not facing him for thirty years, running with the justification of keeping him and the others safe. 

The breath of fresh air that seeing Eskel again felt like. The unimaginable peace and happiness that bathed over you every morning that you woke up at his side. Everything that Jaskier had shown you, and the choice that you made because of him. 

The way that Eskel looks at you. How you can smell the sweet, fiery scent of  _ love  _ radiating from his skin. The way that he makes your heart feel so impossibly full in your chest that it just makes you want to cry. 

“Eskel,” you whisper, stroking your thumb along the rough plane of his cheek, “There is  _ nothing  _ in this world that I want more than to be allowed to love you, fully and unapologetically.”

“Then do it,” Eskel murmurs, his eyes striking with emotion in the dim light of the evening, “love me, and let me love you back…”

You catch his lips with your own, pulling him to you and wrapping yourself firmly in his grasp. Eskel shifts up onto his knees, pushing your own legs back and you wind them around his waist. His cock presses gently against your entrance and you moan openly as Eskel pushes himself fully inside of you. 

_ Holy sweet mother of all the Gods,  _ you think as Eskel begins to just barely thrust into you,  _ how the FUCK have we not been doing this sooner?  _ His cock fills you so fully you fear you could burst, but you know that it would be a wonderfully satisfying death if it were to happen. But the pleasure burns through you, his length setting your nerves alight with each snap of his hips to yours. Eskel’s pace quickens as you dig your nails into his shoulders, gasping into his mouth and pulling him to press his body fully against yours. 

The walls of your cunt flutter around him, pulling him to his release as you chase your own. Eskel moans your name over and over, a prayer and a plea and a song all in the same word. His fingers move down to rub quick circles over the nerves at the top of your core, and then all at once his cock hits that spot deep inside of you, and everything all together sends you soaring into your climax once more. Your back arches into him as your orgasm takes over your senses, everything filled with a deafening void of pleasure, the only other thing in the world being the man relentlessly fucking into you. 

Eskel finds his own release inside of you, his cock pulsing as his spend fills you, dripping out around him and down onto the bed. His teeth latch onto your neck as he climaxes, your hand drifting lazily through his hair as his hips snap erratically against your own. You hear his heartbeat slow and his breathing calm, and you can feel his cock begin to soften in your core. 

  
  


Eskel pushes himself onto his elbows as he kisses you deeply, gently pulling out of you in the same motion. The whine that falls from your lips comes unbidden at the emptiness and Eskel quietly shushes you. He rolls onto his side and pulls you with him, letting you nestle into his chest. You fit your nose behind his ear and inhale, smiling when you realize that you cannot tell where your scent ends and Eskel’s begins. You place sweet, light kisses down the line of his throat, nuzzling into him and wrapping your arms around the breadth of his chest. 

There is much to discuss, but that can wait until morning, when the light of day brings forth rational discussion and plans for what to do next. For now, though, you are content to finally hold Eskel close, basking in his warmth and the mindless peace that he so easily grants you. Your eyes fall closed as your mind drifts into soft, feathery tranquility.


	19. Fulfillment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The morning after the night before.

Sunlight streams through the little cracks in the roof as morning rises. The room is chilly, but a different warmth spreads from your core. Your mind is hazy in your barely awoken state and it latches on to the gentle waves of pleasure that lap from your center. Your fingers drift down, searching for the source. They wind into soft hair and you hear a low moan that vibrates through your bones. 

You blearily blink your eyes open and peer down, finding Eskel laying between your legs with his mouth latched onto your core. His hair is sleep-mussed and the amber of his eyes is glazed over with his own arousal. 

“Sweet Melitile,” you breathe, falling back into the embrace of the bed beneath you. Eskel digs his fingers into where they rest on your hips, holding you close as your pleasure builds behind your eyes. His tongue dances up and down the tender flesh as he laves you with his attentions. Your nails scratch along Eskel’s scalp as you grasp for some semblance of reality as the peak of your climax looms, your hips thrusting into his touch before you fall apart. It is the most refreshing breath of fresh air, or the first sweet songs of spring, the world falling back into place for just a moment. 

As you come down from the high of your pleasure Eskel kisses along your thighs and up your stomach, hovering over you as the hard length of his cock rests on your hip. You pull him down for a kiss, expecting something bruising, overflowing with heat and unrestrained passion. Instead, as Eskel slots his mouth against yours and you taste your arousal on his lips, it is calm, natural. You move instinctually with each other, the moon and the tides working in tandem as the world spins with them. 

“I love you,” Eskel murmurs, kissing down the slope of your neck and over your shoulder. You push him to lay on his back as you straddle his hips. His skin yields under your touch, pulling him apart and piecing him back together with the delicate movements of your fingers.

You cup his cheek in your hand as you sink down onto his cock. “And I love you…”

* * *

The sun is high in the sky by the time you both are spent, panting and sated and tangled in each other’s arms. Eskel is idly twirling a bit of your hair around one of his fingers, and you are content with just listening to the latent beating of his heart under your head. 

“So…” Eskel fills the silence, “what now?”

You tilt your head back to look at him, trying to commit every last detail to memory. “Well, I think we should maybe start towards Blaviken soon, we’ve already made Geralt wait…”

“That’s not what I meant. I mean with us.”

You hold Eskel’s gaze, feeling his thumb rub gentle circles on your hip. “Well, we could keep travelling together, doing contracts along the Path and just, keep doing...this...that is, if that’s something you want?”

Your voice trails off at the end, terrified of the potential rejection once more. However, it never comes, Eskel only pulls you tighter to his side and leans down for a kiss, murmuring his agreement against your lips.

“Maybe one day we’ll be able to retire.” 

You scoff, “Retire? Witchers don’t retire.” You settle back on his chest, wanting a few more moments of peace before you have to leave this sanctuary. 

“We could. We could get a little cottage, maybe somewhere in the mountains…”

You hum, tracing your finger through the dark hair on Eskel’s chest, letting your mind wander with him. “Perhaps get Bleater a few friends?”

You hear the smile in Eskel’s voice as he speaks, “Gods, they’re going to drive us crazy.”

“We’ll have a little garden, with lots of vegetables and flowers and not a single potion ingredient…”

“And a big field for the horses to roam in, and maybe we’ll get a dog too…”

“My gods, we’re just going to be a giant animal sanctuary, aren’t we?” You chuckle before falling back into a comfortable quiet, only the distant chirping of birds and the whisper of the breeze breaking through. 

“Eskel?” You peer up at him, letting the last brick of the final wall around your heart fall. “I have felt so empty, so hollow, since I left all those years ago. I just thought that I would be that forever, but I never stopped looking, trying to find what fills that void. And I’ve found it. It’s you.”

The scar through Eskel’s lip pulls oddly as his mouth turns upwards into a blinding smile, pulling you as close as possible to him. “Gods, I love you so much…”

“And I love you, my dear.”


	20. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So many unanswered questions, with a few answers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my god y’all, it’s here! This is the final chapter! I literally started this back in May, and it’s now basically October? Holy shitballs. A huge thank you to those who were with me from day one and to those who joined me throughout the journey.  
> While this is the last part, I do still have little ideas running around my head. I hope that you all have enjoyed this as much as I have, and I am looking forward to exploring new works too!

A shiver runs down your spine as you watch the fog slowly creep up the mountain path. Your fingers itch to grab for your silver sword, bracing yourself for an attack of foglets. It’s only a split second thought though, a reflex from more than half a century of hunting monsters. Then you remember that foglets don’t come this far north, and you don’t have your swords. They have been left just inside of the doorway twenty paces behind you, and have been collecting dust for the better part of a year. 

You watch as the sun rises past the craggled summits of the mountains around you, bathing the lower valley in light. The fog rises and dissipates, revealing the lush green pasture dotted with sprigs of lavender and thyme. After almost an entire decade more of following the Path, you had given in to the occasional yearning that grew more and more constant to finally make a life of your own, by your own choosing. Your ears pick up movement to your left and you turn, smiling when you see a veritable herd of animals approaching in your direction, led by the man who claims to be the source of your sanity. 

Eskel leads the pack with Lil’ Bleater bounding at his side, albeit a bit slower in her advancing age. He fulfilled his promise, finding a friend for her named Bellegarde. She had kids earlier in the spring, the three little bundles of energy just as taken by Eskel as their mother. Scorpion and Lady follow just behind, the latter butting her head into Scorpion’s flank as he walks. The two of them have grown closer as well, having had a foal between them. She has the same stoic air as her father, with the gentle regality of her mother. 

You had balked when Eskel had walked through the door with a wolf pup in his arms, but he quickly provided a (still somewhat insane) reason for having brought him into the home.

“I found him laying among a bunch of dead wolves, probably had been his pack. I couldn’t just leave him there, he’d die…” Eskel looked up at you with the biggest, saddest eyes he could muster, knowing that you’ve grown quite soft when it comes to him. 

You sighed, turning back to the pot over the fire to give it a stir. “He’ll be your responsibility…”

But that had not stopped the little thing from taking to you immediately. You often couldn’t walk more than two steps without him being under your feet, following your every move. You had named him Argos, after a story you had heard of a great warrior with a faithful dog that followed in his shadow. 

Now, Argos bounds to your side, letting you run your fingers through his ever-thickening coat. Summer has passed into a chilly autumn, the trees once again turning the colors of fire before shedding their leaves. Eskel comes up behind you and wraps his arms around your waist, nuzzling into your neck and kissing lightly. You close your eyes and lean into his touch. Your mind settles with peace, but it is soon broken by the distant sound of approaching steps from the treeline, and the plucking of a lute. Your eyes shoot open, freezing on the spot as you stare at the place that the sound is coming from. 

Silver hair shines in the sunlight as Geralt steps out of the cover of the trees. He looks strong, healthy, well-fed. Roach looks the same, though she always looks at least a little more well-cared for than Geralt himself. His face, twisted in his perpetual scowl, softens a bit when he spots the two of you. Eskel’s arm slips from around your waist as he walks to meet Geralt halfway, the two men wordlessly falling in a tight embrace. You move to greet him as well, but your feet still as the source of the music steps from the woods at Geralt’s back.

He looks just as he did a decade ago, wavy chestnut hair framing a handsome face, blue eyes just on this side of too-bright. He is dressed in bright colors, a stark contrast at Geralt’s side. The lute slides into place across his back as he gestures widely in a greeting to Eskel, full of flowery words and vague insinuations. Jaskier places his hand lightly on Geralt’s shoulder as he speaks, and you can see the way that Geralt softens even further with the touch. As Jaskier turns to face him however, Geralt’s face switches back into his stern expression.

Time freezes for everyone except you, Lil’ Bleater having been suspended in mid-air as she lept to greet her new guests. You huff, turning to see Jaskier at your side. You glance between the two identical men, wishing for the life of you that you had your swords on your back. 

“He doesn’t know.” The Jaskier at your side speaks with a timeless tone, one that speaks of wisdom of countless years. He sighs with a smile, “Back then, I thought I was just as human as anyone else.”

You blink, settling a bit in your boots. “So, I shouldn’t say anything to him?”

“Unless you want to uproot this whole beautiful life that you have created with Eskel, no.”

You nod, taking in your surroundings. A home, with a fire and a table and a bed that Eskel warms at your side every night. Countless animals, providing love and companionship. A garden in the back, spilling over with any and every plant that the two of you could think of. Your armor, tucked away under the bed. 

“Thank you, Jaskier, for what you did all those years ago.” You don’t know what to do with your hands, flexing uncomfortably at your side. 

Jaskier hums, stepping right up next to the frozen version of himself. You can see, even from where you stand behind Eskel, the way that Jaskier is gazing at Geralt, a twinkle in his eyes that could rival that of a star shooting across the sky.

“You love him.” Your words are not accusatory, more so just stating a fact. Jaskier flushes a bit, biting his lip as he turns back to you. 

“Could you…” Jaskier steps to stand at your side once more, “Could you not say anything about that either?”

You smirk, nodding a bit before responding, “That’s not in your destiny, then?”

Jaskier puts his hand on your shoulder, squeezing lightly. “No, my dear. Unfortunately, it is not.”

The breeze picks back up as the Jaskier at your side disappears, leaving you to join the group in front of you. This Jaskier shines like a new coin, young and naive. Introductions are made as you escort everyone into the house, Argos weaving through the vines of new legs, nipping playfully at Jaskier’s fingers.

* * *

A few days pass before Geralt and Jaskier take their leave, headed even further north towards Kaer Morhen. You had invited them to stay at your home, but Geralt had gently refused. 

“I uh...I need to see Vesemir. I need his help.”

Your eyebrows crinkled as Geralt explained the mess that he had created around himself, having claimed a Child of Surprise, a princess no less. As he spoke Eskel had gotten up from the table and walked out of the door, silently reliving his own tragedy around the subject. 

Later, Geralt and Eskel had spoken. Eskel’s own past with his Child Surprise was still a rather tender subject, but Geralt was experiencing all of that anew. The two of you vowed to be of support to Geralt as he may need, and agreed that if there were any reason to break out the armor and strap the swords back on, it would be for him. Jaskier had agreed, though Geralt seemed unsure of what exactly he could do in this situation.

“You may be surprised Geralt,” you said, probably one too many ales in, “I bet Jaskier’s got a whole lot of power.”

You realized what you said as soon as the words fell from your lips. “I uh- I mean, his songs! He could wield a whole lot of power over the people with the stories he tells, right?”

Jaskier brightened, launching into a whole new tangent about the songs that he will write about his journey this winter, the two witchers sequestered away in their cabin, and the ones who spend the season in a castle high in the wilderness. You tuned him out, quickly finishing your ale before retiring to bed. 

Now, Eskel rolls over to face you on the bed, having seen the two of them off earlier in the day. “It was nice to see Geralt again...Jaskier’s an odd bird though.” His voice is teasing, light in the sanctuary of your home.

You chuckle, thinking the same. Though, you choose to keep your mouth shut, hesitant to spill any more information about the mysterious bard. 

“I am glad they’ve left though…” Eskel’s voice turns husky as he tucks his nose into your neck. “Couldn’t very well fool around with them in the next room.”

Eskel’s hand finds your core atop your underthings, just barely teasing you through the fabric. You sigh into him, pressing into his touch. You lift your hips as he hooks his fingers into the waist of your shorts, pulling them down and tossing them elsewhere in the room. Eskel has already divested himself of his own smallclothes, so when you reach, you find him hard and wanting in your hand. 

“How would you like me tonight, love?” you whisper as you turn to better face him. He kisses you sweetly, taking your lip between his teeth as he pulls back. Eskel grabs you around the waist and shifts his hips, pulling you over him so you straddle him. 

“Like this,” he growls, leaning up to take the peak of one of your breasts between his lips. You thread your fingers through his hair, reveling in just how soft it is now that you have all of the time in the world for trivial things like special soaps to keep hair silky.

You sink yourself down onto the length of his cock, your eyes fluttering closed with the fullness. This feeling never grows old, something familiar but oh so exhilarating with every moment that passes. As your hips meet a bolt of ecstasy shoots through your skin, your nails digging into the meat of his shoulders. You moan as Eskel holds your waist, his own hips beginning to thrust a languid pace. 

Eskel’s eyes bore deep into your own as he rubs his fingertips in little circles over the bundle of nerves at the peak of your center, fresh waves of arousal soaring through you with every beat of your heart. Eskel can (and has) keep you for  _ hours  _ like this, perched on the precipice of a glorious climax, never letting you fall. Tonight though, he is impatient, his hips soon snapping in a fast rhythm. 

Your muscles tense as you keen with your fast approaching pleasure, every nerve feeling like it is on fire. Eskel wraps himself completely around your form as he fucks even harder into you, notching his teeth against the soft skin on your neck. You shatter under his hands, your entire body singing with the all-encompassing euphoria that comes with your climax. You feel Eskel follow soon after, his grip tightening ever so slightly before spilling deep in your core. 

Eskel kisses you deeply as he turns, pressing you into the cushion of the bed as he pulls out of your heat. You hum contentedly as he grabs a damp cloth, cleaning you off before doing the same to himself. You know that the both of you could go for several more rounds, but the appeal of rest is so much greater at the moment. You feel Eskel settle behind you, wrapping himself around you and pressing his mouth against the back of your neck.

“I love you so much, my dove.”

Your eyes well a little bit, smiling into the pillow with just how tender your life has become. This is the easiest thing you have ever done, and you can only hope that it lasts until the end of your days. The easiest words come next, just as they do every moment that they appear in your mind.

“I love you, Eskel.”


	21. Sidetrack: Geralt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An unfriendly figure from the past still haunts you to this day, and Geralt finds a way to end that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoops my hand slipped. There was a big question that I needed to answer in this series, so here it is! I plan on doing one more “sidetrack” for another plotline :)

You hear hooves approaching your cottage, just the faintest plods against wet leaves under the sound of Eskel snoring. He didn’t used to snore, but here, in this sanctuary, he is comfortable. You stand, leaving the herbs you had been sorting on the table. You discreetly peer out of the window towards the near-invisible path from the woods, watching as a familiar figure steps out of the shadows. The moonlight dances over the silver of his hair and lets you see the high planes of his face, darkened by the tell-tale scowl on his mouth.

You push open the door gently so as not to wake your sleeping Witcher. The air is cool on your exposed arms as you cross the small valley, meeting Geralt half-way. He looks tired, but only in the way that another Witcher would notice. The subtle way that his head hangs slightly or that his shoulders are not perfectly held. Nevermind the fact that his armor stinks to high hell. 

“Gods, Geralt. How long has it been since you’ve cleaned that?” You cross your arms as you stand just out of his reach. 

“I’ve been busy,” Geralt hums, and you smirk lightheartedly. “Listen, I need your help.”

“Of course Geralt, whatever you need, I can-”

“It’s about Stregobor.”

Your blood runs cold, the world spinning around you as you feel rooted to the spot. And then, like oil bubbling and spitting through the streets of Novigrad, anger fills your stomach and boils over. “ _ That _ motherfucker? What is it, Geralt? Hang on, let me get my shit and then we-”

“Wait. We’re not rushing into anything here, not now.” Geralt’s right, and you know it. You huff nonetheless, gesturing for him to go on.

“I know where he is. Yennefer did some magic-y yada yada and was able to figure out where he’s hiding. It looks like he’s holed up in some cave system that I am sure is enchanted. Yen is waiting with a portal for us,” Geralt shudders, “but we have to leave quickly. There’s no telling what exactly we’d be walking into, but I want to get rid of him once and for all.”

You nod, glancing back to your little home. Eskel is probably still asleep, curled around nothing in the void where you usually lay. Your heart swells up, conflicted. As if reading your mind, Geralt chimes in. “I’m not asking lightly. I know how much of a risk this is, and I get it if you would rather stay here. But I wanted to ask you, since you have a history with him too.”

You look up at Geralt, letting your eyes drift over the way he holds himself. The great ‘Butcher of Blaviken,’ stooped down and looking at you with fire in his eyes. You steel yourself, biting your lip before shaking your head. “Let me go grab my gear, I’ll meet you back here.”

You leave him and Roach, listening as he walks her over to your stables. The door is silent as you walk into the house, letting you pad along the floor over to the edge of the bed. You kneel and slide out the little trunk that has held your armor for more than a year, now. You have to move aside some of Eskel’s as you retrieve your own, smiling a bit at the familiar red and brown stripes. 

You stand and begin methodically dressing in the heavy pieces. First, the trousers, enforced with hardened leather and chitinous shell at the knees. You have to let the belt out a bit at the waist, having grown a little bit soft around the middle since you last dressed in these. Next a plain tunic thrown over your simple corset, followed by your boots. It’s so much easier to do them first rather than trying to bend over in all of your armor. They are stretched and molded from years of use, plates of enriched dimeritium steel decorating the sides. Then comes the chest armor, meticulously pieced together from different monster bits to provide the highest level protection from any number of creatures one may run across. Finally the gloves, your fingertips bare to provide the most direct source of any signs you may cast. 

You look over the room, finding your swords resting against the door frame. You run your hands through your hair before pulling it back so it is away from your face.  _ What am I thinking? _

__ “There’s a pack under the washbasin, it’s got all of the potions and oils in it…” You startle at Eskel’s deep rumble, finding him watching from where he lay over the pillows. Sure enough, when you look, there’s Eskel’s old saddlebags, filled to the brim with various decoctions. You move back to the bed and perch on the edge, running your fingertips over the scar down Eskel’s cheek. He sighs into your touch, turning to press his lips to your palm. 

“How much did you hear?” You ask, running your fingers through his hair. 

“Enough to know that this is insanely dangerous. But I also know that you have to do this. And I’m just glad that Geralt’s going with you.”

You lean down, pressing your foreheads together for a long moment. “I love you, Eskel.”

His eyes, deep gold in the way of sunlight filtered through the trees, find yours in the darkness. “Just come back to me, that’s all I ask.”

You kiss him, trying to pour every bit of love and promise into him that you can. You break away first, knowing that if you push it any longer, you won’t actually make it out of the door. You throw on your dark cloak and latch the buckle of your sword sheaths over your shoulder, turning to look back at Eskel one more time. 

He sits on the edge of the bed, his elbows resting on his knees and his hands intertwined between them. He looks up at you, and you can smell the fear pouring from his skin. You nod, choking on unsaid words as the door closes behind you. 

Your eyes shine as you approach Geralt once more. “Ready?” He asks.

“As I’ll ever be.” The final leaves that still decorate the trees dance in the breeze as you pass underfoot, following in Geralt’s footsteps. He suddenly stops, just far enough into the trees to be out of sight of your home. He reaches into his pouch and pulls out a little circular device, opening the lid and taking a deep breath.

“Yennefer? We’re ready.” As soon as the words leave his mouth your medallion hums against your chest, the air kicking up around you. A portal opens up between the trees, a black void lined with bright orange and red energy. Geralt groans, moving forward first.

“ _ Gods,  _ I hate portals.” He disppears as he steps through, leaving you in the silent forest, save for the audible buzz coming from the portal. You follow quickly behind, hearing it snap shut as your stomach lurches forward, pulling the rest of you with it. 

* * *

The air is significantly cooler, the ground crunching with the beginnings of the incoming frost. When your eyes open you notice a tall mountain before you, the entrance to a cave situated not far from where you stand. Geralt shivers, clearly still recovering from the aggressive sudden relocation. 

“Does he know that we’re here?” You whisper, drawing your steel sword. 

Geralt hums, doing the same. “No. Yennefer rendered his outer enchantments null, so we should be able to sneak in pretty easily.”

You nod, and the two of you move silently up to the mouth of the cave. You reach into the pouch that you have situated on your hip, finding a bottle of Cat. You down it in one go, shuddering with the taste. Geralt raises an eyebrow, knocking back his own bottle.

“Shut up, it’s been a while.”

“Didn’t say a word.”

The world sharpens to every little detail in the rocks, rough edges jutting out over a small creek that runs through the stone. Geralt steps first, keeping his feet light and quick down the paths. You follow in his wake, and you can feel your medallion humming harder against your chest as you climb further and further into the depths of the cave. 

“We’re close” Geralt murmurs, just loud enough for you to hear. “Climb up there and you can drop down. I’m going to go around, try and get him from behind. You need to go up to him and cast  _ Yrden _ , that way he can’t portal out of here.”

“Got it,” you reply, hefting yourself over an upturned boulder and onto an overhang. You can hear the bubbling of various mixtures, the intertwined scents tingling your nose. You can see a lab of sorts, dimly lit by candles around the place. There are barrels and trunks littering the floor, and a man in a long, dark robe stands before a table. His hair is grey and unkempt, and you can feel a powerful magic deep in your bones. You give a count to thirty, letting Geralt find his way around the cavern. 

You take a deep breath before launching yourself forward, landing in a crouch right behind the mage.  _ Yrden  _ leaves your hand before the man can even turn around, trapping him in an almost invisible ring, the barest bit of purple light betraying the edge of his trap. 

“What the-! Why I-urgh!” The mage seems to go through several emotions quite quickly, dancing through confusion into anger, and then anger into pain. His knees hit the floor quite forcefully when Geralt leaps onto him from behind, yanking his arms behind his back and locking a pair of handcuffs around his wrists. You can feel your stamina depleting as you hold the sign, clearly a bit out of practice.  _ We should do some training, just to keep up to standards,  _ you think to yourself. 

“Don’t bother trying to break them,” he growls into the mage’s ear, “they’re dimeritium.”

You let  _ Yrden  _ go, your energy quickly returning in its wake. You watch as Stregobor struggles in his binds before relenting, looking up at Geralt with a smug smile. “So we meet again, Witcher. And it seems you’ve brought a friend.”

Your stomach churns, but you force down your swirling emotions in favor of observing the mage a bit closer. You step into the light, letting Stregobor see your face. This face, scarred and feral and  _ tired,  _ that he recognizes in an instant. 

“Ah, even better. A friend that I already know.” You bare your teeth at his words, measuring your steps as you step closer. “Are you here to finally understand what you truly are?”

You grab his chin forcefully, breathing heavily into his face. “I know what I am. I am a Witcher, a human, nothing more. You, however, are a  _ monster.” _

Geralt hums from where he stands behind Stregobor. “Witchers kill monsters, do they not?”

You nod, pressing the tip of your blade to the delicate skin under the mage’s neck. “Did you truly believe in the Curse? Or was this all some game?”

Stregobor, the bastard, smiles wider, all innocence gone from his eyes. He knows he’s been caught, might as well have a bit of fun. “What does it matter? It’s over now, has been for decades. All of the rest of you are gone, you remain the final piece to my puzzle.”

“It matters,” you growl, “because I am the one with a blade to your neck.”

“No. The curse, it’s a myth. Sure, there was the oddity in one’s anatomy every now and then, but that was mere coincidence.”

You blink, a hurricane of emotion swirling just beneath the surface. But you can’t let it out, not yet. You have work to do.

Geralt steps around to stand at your side, and you can smell the rage pouring off of his skin. Like a wildfire made of cinnamon bark, burning the hairs along your arms as the wind blows over. 

“Go on,” he whispers, Stregobors eyes widening as your fingers tighten on the worn leather of the hilt. “Finish it.”

With a flick of your wrist and a step to the left Stregobor’s head hits the ground, followed soon after by the rest of his body. His blood runs thick and dark over the wet cavern floor. You can’t hear anything over the sound of your heart pounding in your chest and your breath coming fast. You sheathe your sword, stalking to retrace your steps through the cave. 

Your feet dance over the rocks as you climb out of the darkness, forcing yourself to ignore the thoughts whirling through your mind. You burst from the cave entrance, finding only dense forest and nowhere to go. The last traces of your potion leave your system, your eyes returning to their somewhat normal state. You look around for anything, finding nothing, panic taking over as you brace to  _ run.  _

And then Geralt is there, his hand on your arm. You look to him, finding a mirror of your own emotions in his eyes. His grip tightens, forcing you to stay. “Tell me.”

Tears well up unbidden as your damn finally breaks. You sink into his arms, sobs wracking your body. Geralt stiffens for a millisecond before his arms wrap around you, sheltering you from the storm that feels as though it is erupting from deep in your chest. 

“It was a  _ waste,”  _ you cry, “all of those years spent running, keeping you all safe, from  _ me _ . But it didn’t matter, I wasn’t-I’m not-”

Your voice dissolves back into sobs, mourning the years that you lost because of the actions of another. Geralt told you his story with Stregobor, and Renfri. She, and countless others, had her life snatched from her, for nothing. 

“It’s done,” Geralt murmurs, “You don’t have to let this control you any longer.”

You take a deep breath and nod, stepping back into your own space. “Thank you, Geralt.”

He hums, opening up that same little box from before. Another portal opens just before you and you step through first, your feet carrying you home.

* * *

Your cloak billows around you as your feet meet the mossy ground of the forest around your valley. You hear Geralt groan as the portal pops shut before you take off running. The sun is just starting to rise over the mountains, bathing the lower areas in soft light that beckons towards the mist. The treetops give way to wide, clear skies as you run up the path towards your home. You see the door open with Eskel on the other side, visibly relaxing at the sight of you.

You gasp unwillingly as he runs to meet you, falling into each other’s arms as soon as you feel him on your skin. You fit your nose into the crook of his neck and breathe in, scenting the last of his anxiety filtering away, leaving only the soft scent of  _ home  _ in its wake. Eskel’s hands hold you impossibly close and you can feel how his chest trembles under your fingers. 

Eskel parts from you only enough to look you in the eyes. “Did everything go okay? Where’s Geralt?”

“Yes, it’s done. Geralt was behind me, he’s probably emptying his stomach in the forest.”

“I HEARD THAT.” Geralt shouts from the treeline and you turn, watching as he trudges up the path. “I’m fine, just hate portals.”

“Yes, Geralt, we know.” Eskel laughs, and that sound, so deep and true and  _ happy  _ makes every moment of regret you may have felt seem so insignificant. “Come on, I’ve got breakfast ready.”

Eskel takes your hand and the three of you walk inside, dropping your swords and armor off to go back to their silent vigil over your home. 


	22. Sidetrack: Jaskier

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there is an answer (sort of) to the age old question: What The Fuck is Jaskier?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THE FINAL PIECE TO THE PUZZLE. Thank you so much to everyone that has stuck around, and I am so thrilled with this final bit of the series :)

Jaskier had always been an odd child. He was never quiet by any means, always humming and babbling even before he could really talk. His eyes always shone a bit too bright, and his feet would take him to wander as far as he could before being swept up by his nanny.

As Jaskier grew, so did his hunger for something  _ more.  _ His fingers itched towards the lute, and for any and every instrument after that one was mastered. There was an ache deep in his stomach, one that could not be quenched by food or drink. He yearned to follow the sun as it set, trying to find the line behind which it sank every night. 

Something pulled at him, leading his feet to take him past where his eyes could see. And Jaskier didn’t look back as he finally gave in to that urge. He played his way through cities and courts, for knights and peasants. And yet he still felt incomplete, still felt that hook buried deep in his chest, yanking him towards more.

But as Jaskier watched the Witcher with the bright silver hair make his way out of the tavern in Posada, he felt his soul being pulled along behind. So he packed up his lute and followed along, despite Geralt’s best attempts to keep him at bay. Soon enough, the Witcher even started to tolerate Jaskier, even if he wouldn’t admit it. 

And who could blame Jaskier for falling for Geralt, anyway? Sure, it started with lust, as most of Jaskier’s encounters do. Big, strong Witcher with a voice like honey-coated gravel and thighs that one would wish to be crushed between, what more could a bard want? 

Soon enough though, it turned into something much deeper than Jaskier could have ever imagined. Every fiber of him was alight while at Geralt’s side, and the words of worship poured out of him. Everywhere that they traveled together, the people sang his songs praising the White Wolf. 

When they would part, Jaskier would sequester himself away at the University, teaching to get by and to ignore the void which clawed at his insides. The moment that the snow would start to fall, his bag would be packed and waiting by the door, every single year. 

Twenty years, the two of them traveled together. Closer than Geralt had ever allowed anyone to get to him. They shared food, wine, beds, warmth, even a woman on one quite memorable occasion. But all of that had been thrown to the wayside atop a mountain, chucked over the cliff to tumble to the bottom.

_ “If life could give me one blessing, it would be to take you off my hands,”  _ Geralt had said. A part of Jaskier died that day as he trudged alone down the mountain. The wind bit at his nose and he rubbed his hands together for warmth, but nothing could soothe the ache in his bones from his soul being ripped out of his chest. 

Jaskier was back to wandering, but now it just felt empty. He knew what would quell the anguish, but it had sent him away. So he tried in vain to fill the gaping hole in his chest. As the next spring rolled around, filled with sprawling fields bursting with life, Jaskier curled up cold and truly alone.

He wasn’t quite sure what exactly happened, but from one day to the next, something quite drastic changed. Jaskier began to see the world in all of its futures, and the people themselves in the destinies they chose to create. 

It was poetic really, that the man who spent half of his life telling the stories of another’s destiny found himself so woefully intertwined within everyone else’s. And he found himself going back, rewatching the pain wrought upon his life atop that mountain, forced to witness the endless pining from behind his own eyes. 

He wandered further, seeing countless futures laid out before him, and he knew that he could reach out and change them in the blink of an eye. But he felt no urge to change, no. those decisions should be made by the people themselves. But if they only knew what  _ could  _ be, maybe they would have more of a chance. 

Jaskier soon found himself atop another summit, but now he only observed as a Witcher lay dying. The hulking figure was curled on his side, the blood pooling beneath him in a cruel wash of bright red. His swords lay just out of his reach, and his dark hair was strewn over bright golden eyes, so similar to those that Jaskier gazed into for so long. 

And suddenly, a new figure burst through the trees to fall at the man’s side. She was striking, visibly strong and had two swords strewn across her back, and she grasped at the dying man on the ground as if he were her only hope left in the world. As the blood stained her hands Jaskier knew that he had to fix this story. 

And so he did. He went back to a tavern in the middle of nowhere, finding the two Witchers leading their horses into town, along with a little goat that stole Jaskier’s heart. And then, when he finally sat down before the woman, he saw the story behind her eyes of how their story was meant to end. 

At heart, Jaskier was a bit of a meddler. Sure, it had gotten him into trouble a few times, but it had paid off many more. As he spent his days trailing behind these two hopelessly in love idiots, he felt the pull behind his stomach less and less. Instead, as he watched the warmth bloom in sweet golden eyes, his heart swelled and he felt whole in a way that he hadn’t in a long time. 

Jaskier’s heart skipped a beat when they all walked into Kaer Morhen and saw Geralt by the fire, younger than Jaskier had ever known him. He could feel the cracks in his heart that entire winter, but felt them fill with mortar watching his two charges fall further and further in love. 

And there may have been a hiccup or two, but with a little nudge in the right direction, his two Witchers walked back down together, closer than ever. He watched from afar as Geralt headed straight for tragedy, but that was a destiny that was far larger and more complex than he would dare to meddle with. 

And finally,  _ finally,  _ in a great field of poppies and buttercups,  _ of which Jaskier was quite enamored with, thank you very much,  _ his two great ding-dongs professed their love. Maybe their destinies would take them further, or maybe this was the final spot for them, and anything that happened after was out of his hands. 

It didn’t matter. Jaskier was whole, and he knew that his Witchers were as well. And no one knew quite better than him:

Hollow things seek to fill their emptiness. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading :) you can find me on tumblr @pressedinthepages


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